


Here and Now

by eponine119



Category: Lost
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Flash Sideways Verse, Road Trips, Romance, if it's an AU of a canon AU is that going too far, past Jack/Juliet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25786888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponine119/pseuds/eponine119
Summary: In 1989, Juliet and James meet and embark on a road trip from Miami to Los Angeles. They both have secrets.
Relationships: Juliet Burke/James "Sawyer" Ford
Comments: 26
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first section of this story is very similar (but not identical) to part of a different fic I wrote called 5 Cups. Basically I wrote that and wanted to keep going. 
> 
> Also, this story is complete. I'm just finishing up the editing and intend to post chapters probably every other day.

Here and Now  
by eponine119  
June 25, 2020 – June 30, 2020 – July 30, 2020

Chapter One

Miami, 1989

James had to stop. He'd been driving for hours, running away. For the first couple hundred miles, he'd even been afraid to stop, in case those guys had followed him to make good on their threat to kill him. 

His goal had been Key West, as far away as he could go. He thought maybe he could pick up a ride on a boat there, like Hemingway, and keep going until he found some remote island he'd never return from. 

But now his head ached, his eyes were heavy, his butt had been numb since Georgia, and he desperately needed to pee. He flicked on his blinker for a second and pulled into the parking lot of the Waffle House. 

He heard the yelling before he saw where it was coming from. A guy and a girl were standing next to a weird, old truck. They were around his age. The guy had brown hair and his face was red as he shouted and pointed an angry finger. The girl had masses of long blond ringlets blowing in the wind. She yelled back, but then stood there frowning, taking what the guy dished out. 

James started to get out of the car, feeling his heart starting to race with the excitement of a fight. He'd never been able to resist, even though he knew he shouldn't get involved. But by the time he pushed open the door of his car, the red-faced guy was jumping into the hideous truck and slamming the door. “Jack!” the girl yelled, reaching for the door handle. But the engine revved and the truck lurched forward. The girl stepped back as the truck sped out of the parking lot with its tires skidding. 

She looked down at her hands. “Hey,” James said, walking over to her. He saw now her nails had been broken off when the car pulled away. He gave her a quick once-over to decide whether that asshole had been beating on her before he pulled up. He liked what he saw, and he didn't see any bruises on her pale skin. “You okay?” 

She nodded, then looked at him with the most amazingly blue eyes he'd ever seen. “He'll be back,” she said, like she was trying to convince herself. 

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he offered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

Her shoulders sagged, looking off in the direction the car had gone, as she realized: “My purse was in the car.” 

“My treat,” James said. “That jerk'll be back eventually.” 

“That jerk was my boyfriend.” 

She looked small and bereft something about her made him want to hold her. “Was, bein' the key word,” he said. Then he nodded toward the restaurant. “C'mon.” 

“All right,” she said, meeting his eyes. “One cup.” 

“Maybe two,” James said. 

“Oh, you're a charmer,” she said, teasing. 

He grabbed the door and she walked through it. “I gotta make a pit stop.” 

Her eyebrows went up a little. “Don't ditch me.” She tried to sound like she didn't care, he could tell, but she just had been ditched. 

“Never,” he promised, and headed for the men's room. He started getting angry again, thinking about it. What kind of guy would kick a girl out of the car and just drive away, leaving her stranded without even her purse? How big of an asshole did you have to be? 

James checked himself out in the mirror as he washed his hands. He had dark rings around his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping lately, worrying about his own troubles. He feathered his dirty-blond hair back into place with his fingers and straightened his cool pink t-shirt. He looked down at his jeans and smoothed his palms against them, wishing they were tight Guess jeans instead of loose and raggedy, but it couldn't be helped. 

He wanted to impress her. Even if he was just doing a good deed and they were strangers passing, never to meet again. 

The coffee was waiting when he got to the booth. “I ordered,” she said. 

“I noticed,” he said, giving her his best grin. He saw her react to it and it made him smile a little harder. He dumped a couple of creamers and a handful of the sugar packets into his coffee cup. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment after the first sip. It was so good and he was so tired. He forced his eyes open again, realizing he hadn't gotten to see how she took her coffee. “Black?” he asked. 

She nodded, giving him a mysterious smile. “You're from Tennessee.” 

“How --” 

“The accent,” she said. She inclined her head toward the window. His car was parked just beyond the glass. “And I saw your license plates when you pulled in. How long did it take you to drive all the way here?” 

“'Bout half a day,” he said. “The sun was already over the yardarm when I hit the road.” 

“What brings you here?” she asked. 

“What were you fightin' with Tom Cruise about?” 

“Oh, he's much taller than Tom Cruise,” she said, and betrayed her dry wit with a smile. 

“Guess we all got our secrets then,” he said, acknowledging her avoidance of the subject. He turned over the menu. “You hungry?” 

“I feel like a bottomless pit lately,” she said. 

“Must be growin',” he said, and watched her face change subtly. “That's what my granny always said, anyway. Order whatever you want.” 

“I don't --” 

“It's on me.” 

“I'll pay you back.” 

“If you say so,” he said, pushing the menu toward her. “I hear the waffles are good.” 

“They have waffles?” she cracked and he had to smile. He liked her. He wondered again what had led up to someone just abandoning her here. She sensed him looking at her, and blinked slowly at him like a cat. “What?” 

“Nothin',” he said, too quickly. “Just wonderin' how old you are.” 

“Don't worry, I'm legal. I'd show you my ID, but, well...” she said. She glanced out the window again, and he realized she was looking for her boyfriend to come back “I'm nineteen.” 

“Me too,” he said, a little too eagerly. It seemed a neat coincidence they were the same age. She just kept looking at him. “What do you do?” 

“Do?” 

“In life.” He shrugged. “For a job.” 

“I'm a student,” she said. “Sophomore at UCLA. Or will be, when school starts again in a couple of weeks. It's in California.” 

“I know,” he said. “You're a long way from Beverly Hills.” 

“We were driving back there. Together. End of summer road trip.” 

“How far'd you get?” 

“About ten miles.” She looked miserably down at the menu. “What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“You're on vacation?” 

“Not quite,” he said. He shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe we oughta set some ground rules for this here friendship.” 

“Is it a friendship?” Was he imagining it, or did she sound the tiniest bit hopeful? 

“Meal, then,” he said. 

“What kind of rules?” she asked. 

“No personal questions.” 

“Says the guy who just got the answers to his personal questions,” she said. She looked down at the menu again and he saw in her eyes that she was hungry. “All right.” 

“Get what you like,” he said, as the waitress approached. He ordered a full breakfast, suddenly aware he hadn't eaten since Tennessee, and she ordered a waffle and hash browns. The waitress walked away. “Where were we?” 

“You were going to tell me why you drove here from Tennessee all in in one day.” 

“No, I wasn't,” he said. “What's your favorite color?” 

“Sunflower yellow.” 

“Well, well, well, just plain yellow ain't good enough,” he noted playfully. 

“Is yours pink?” she asked, looking at his t-shirt, holding back a laugh. 

“Charcoal gray,” he answered. If she could be specific, so could he. 

She was still hung up on his wardrobe. “Did you think we all really dress like Miami Vice down here? Did you get that shirt to try to fit in? Where's your white suit?”

“I like this shirt,” he bristled. But his ears felt hot with embarrassment, which he hoped she wouldn't notice.

“Aren't all questions personal questions?” she asked. “Maybe we should just avoid those two questions, and everything else is fair game.” She didn't have to say which two questions they would avoid. 

“What kinda books you crackin' at your fancy college?” 

“Pre-med. What do you do?” 

“I done a lot of things,” he said. “Right now I ain't doin' anything.” 

“You thought I was a hooker.” 

He tried not to let it show that it had crossed his mind, but his eyes widened. 

“You did!” she cried. “What about me makes you think I'm a hooker?” She looked down at her outfit, which was just a plain top and tight jeans.

“Keep your voice down,” he said, glancing at the waitress, who had her fist on her chin and was staring out through the window, probably waiting for her prince to come. “An' it was probably you getting dumped on the roadside like a naughty kitten.” 

She smirked at that, and tilted her head as she looked at him, like she was trying to figure him out. Their food arrived, and she dug in with gusto. She drowned her waffle with an incredible amount of syrup. “What?” she asked when she noticed him watching her. 

“Nothing.” He picked at his scrambled eggs. 

“You've never seen a girl eat before?” 

“Maybe you should drink it, it'd be faster,” he suggested, looking at the syrup. 

“I tried it once. It's better on waffles. It's perfect on waffles,” she declared. “Do you have any hobbies?” 

He kind of laughed because it was absurd. 

“You are a man of mystery.” She was smiling again. He liked her smile.

“I like to read,” he offered. 

“Really?” 

“Don't look surprised. I know how,” he said. 

“No, I mean, you just don't really look the type.” 

“Cause I'm a dumb redneck,” he said. 

“That's not –“ She frowned, and he found it adorable. “I don't think about cute guys sitting around reading books. I mean, I do, but that's my fantasy life and not reality.” 

He just looked at her. He frowned at her. She shook her head, like she was embarrassed. “You think I'm cute.” 

“Don't act like you don't know you're cute,” she said, and drank some more of her coffee. 

“I ain't vain.” 

She just looked at him until he had to look away. “What do you like to read?” 

“I'll read anything.” 

“What are you reading right now?” 

“This book Lightning. It's about time travel. And other stuff.” 

“I thought Watchers was better. You ever read Stephen King?” 

“Everybody reads Stephen King,” he said, and his heart was thumping in his chest again. “You read.” 

“Looks like we've got something in common,” she said. “In addition to us both thinking you're cute.” 

“Ha,” he said, flatly. 

“I bet you like movies, too.” 

“What about breathin' air? I bet you like breathin' air, and what a coincidence. Me too.” 

“Don't be a jerk,” she said softly. 

His brows drew together and he put his head down, feeling suitably chastised. She'd had enough of jerks for one day. He ate, and when he looked at her again, she was watching out the window. Probably looking for the asshole's car. 

“You ever get dumped?” she asked. She didn't look at him, and her voice was shaky at the end like she was going to start crying. It made him feel a little panicky, although he understood it. 

“I always dump them first,” he said, honestly. “I ain't never been in anything that serious, though.” 

“Seems like a good policy.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and she took a deep breath. 

“You look like a fairy tale princess,” he said, wanting to make her feel better, but also completely honestly, looking at her blue eyes and cascade of curls. 

“What?” she laughed, and wiped her eyes. She glanced at him, and he must have had a stupid look, because she did a double take. 

He smiled at her, because it had worked to distract her. She took another bite of her waffle. He was starting to get full and pushed his plate toward the edge of the table. The waitress refilled their coffee cups and took his plate away. He didn't want this to end, not yet. 

“I don't think he's coming back,” she said. 

“Do you want him to?” 

She shook her head, then nodded. 

“You love him?” 

“I thought I did.” She looked at him. “What about you?” 

“I do not love him,” James confirmed. She touched his hand across the table, like it was meant to encourage him to be serious. He drew in a sharp breath, because her touch was electric. “I ain't taken.” He gave her a long look, and he thought that if there wasn't a table between them covered with syrup, he would kiss her. 

She licked her lips like she knew it, then pulled back her hand and put it in her lap. “Are you going home after this?” 

“I can't go back there.” 

She looked at him with interest. He shook his head, not willing to say more. “What's your favorite fairy tale?” 

“The Birthday of the Infanta,” he replied, without hesitation. 

“I guess Disney missed that one.” 

“Guess so.” 

“I like Little Red Riding Hood.” 

He nodded. 

“My favorite Disney movie is Sleeping Beauty, though.” 

He nodded again, very seriously. 

“I bet yours is Peter Pan.” 

“Jungle Book,” he said. “Why Little Red Riding Hood?” 

She shrugged. Her mouth worked, like she wanted to say something but didn't want to. “If you have a quarter, I can call my sister to come get me.” 

“Do you want me to have a quarter?” he asked, his voice low and careful. 

“What are you saying?” she asked. 

“I don't got anyplace to be,” he said. “I could be going to LA.” 

“How do I know you're not a serial killer?” she asked. 

“How do I know you're not one?” he shot back. 

“I'm not if you're not,” she said, and when she smiled, he knew he had her. 

He put fifty cents on the table. She met his eyes questioningly. “One's for your sister. One's for him.” He digs a third quarter out of his pocket. “Emergencies.” 

“If you ditch me --” she threatened. 

“I never would.” He meant it. 

“You'd never have reason to,” she said, and it made him wonder. She slid out of the booth, headed for the pay phone in the back. 

He settled up with the waitress, then found himself staring out the wide window. He half-expected the asshole to pull back in, now, when everything seemed settled. Crazy, but settled. But the parking lot remained still and dark until she returned from the phone. 

“All set,” she declared. 

“Then let's go.” He slid out of the booth. He wanted to place his hand at the small of her back as they walked out together, but he didn't dare. She pushed the door open and sailed through it, leaving him to bring up the rear. 

“That a Honda Civic?” she asked, eyeing his ride. 

“It gets good gas mileage.” 

“And it's charcoal gray,” she teased. So she had been paying attention, he thought. “I can drive,” she offered. He looked at her. “You've been driving all day. You're probably exhausted.” 

“I'm okay,” he said. He got in. He watched her through the windshield. She was taking a last look for any sign of her approaching ex-boyfriend. There was none. She flung herself into the passenger seat with a sigh and buckled her seatbelt. He put the car into gear. 

“What did your sister say?” 

“She asked me what your name is.” 

“What did you tell her?” 

“That I was out of time and had to go,” she said. “Do we make up road trip names? I could be Clarinda and you could be Harold.” 

“You don't look like a Clarinda.” His mouth was dry, because he could lie to her. Like he lied to those guys, before he double crossed them and turned them in to the cops. He could say his name was Sawyer. 

But did he want to be Sawyer? 

“I'm Juliet,” she said. 

He exhaled a laugh, because it was too perfect, with her skin pale in the moonlight and her curly hair flowing over her shoulders. 

“If I had my wallet I'd prove it.” 

“Maybe I should have talked to your sister.” 

“Maybe you should have,” she agreed. “I wouldn't stand a chance.” 

“She ain't prettier than you.” 

“Oh, but she is. She has the most perfect, chestnut colored, straight hair.” 

“You always want what you ain't got,” he said. 

“If you don't give me something to call you, I'll be forced to make something up,” she threatened. 

“James,” he answered. 

“Nice to meet you, James,” she said. 

...

About an hour later, he pulled over to the side of the road, handed her the keys, and got out. Without a word, she joined him on the shoulder and they switched sides of the car, though she did give him a look that was equal parts curious and concerned. 

She leaned down for the lever to move the seat up closer to the wheel, just a little bit. After watching her do this, he folded his arms across his middle, put his head against the door frame and closed his eyes. He was asleep before she'd even driven a mile. 

Juliet kept sneaking glances at him in the dashboard light. His hair was mussed, falling down over his forehead into his eyes, and she had to fight the temptation to brush it back for him. He was handsome, and thinking about his smile gave her a fluttery, excited feeling in her stomach, which she felt guilty for, since she'd just broken up with Jack. 

Jack. 

Driving gave her too much time to think, especially with the radio turned down low so it wouldn't wake James. She wondered if he'd incorporate it all into his dreams – the music, the vibration of the car, the swerve to miss an armadillo in the road. She glanced at him again. 

Her sister Rachel had been half-asleep when she answered the phone, so she hadn't asked too many questions when Juliet said, “If Jack calls looking for me, telling him I found my own way to LA.” She probably should have told Rachel the rest of the story, but getting in a car with a stranger on purpose would have triggered her sister's Mama Bear instincts, and Juliet just wasn't in the mood. 

She'd also left a message on Jack's answering machine, just in case he was calling into check his messages. It seemed like the kind of thing he would do. She'd paused for a moment, trying to decide what to say. “Jack, it's me. You just drove off and left me, and you have my purse and you didn't come back. I'm going back to LA. I'll probably see you there, and if you're lucky I won't be as angry with you anymore. Rachel will know where I am. But don't bother calling.” She hung up, slamming the phone down, wishing for another chance. The message was too angry, though she had every right to be. She would just rather... float above it. 

He'd been angry, too. Angrier than she'd ever seen him. She'd never really been afraid of him before, though she didn't think he would have hurt her. Beyond stranding her at a Waffle House. He probably figured she'd just call Rachel and get a ride home, safe and sound. 

She still wasn’t sure why she didn't. It didn't make any sense, her and James, in his car. But it felt right, for the first time in a long time. She was comfortable with him, instantly. Like she'd known him in another life.

He was comfortable enough to let her drive his banged up car and trusted her enough to sleep while she did, so she figured they were even. 

She notched the radio slightly louder, because she didn't want to think. Not about Jack, not about breaking up, not about all her other problems, not even about her new friend. She just wanted to drive.

A few hours later, she pulled into a convenience store. It was the lack of motion that woke him, she thought, as he picked up his head and blinked and looked around. “Where are we?” His voice was rough and thick with sleep. He ran his hands through his hair, and she thought he must have been exhausted.

“Not far from Orlando. I need to stretch my legs. Want anything?” she asked. But then she stopped, remembering she didn't have her purse, so she didn't have a dime. 

“I'll come in,” he said, either because he remembered, or because he needed to stretch too. She paused a moment to watch him. A full-body stretch complete with a yawn overtook him as he stood outside the car. His ridiculous pink t-shirt rode up and she saw a strip of his lean, tan belly. It made her smile a little bit to herself as she pulled open the door of the store with him following a step behind her. 

He was waiting outside the bathroom when she opened the door to come out. He grinned at her. She wasn't getting used to it – it still made her feel jittery and excited. His eyes were still a little sleepy, a shade between blue and green that made her want to lean in and look more closely. His jaw was covered with a scruff of beard she wanted to feel with the back of her hand. Instead, she smiled back at him and went to spin the postcard rack. They were still in Florida.

“You want some grub?” he asked, coming up beside her a few minutes later. “Coffee? Danish?” 

“Coffee. And a toothbrush. I'll pay you back. I can get my sister to wire some money – that's a thing people do, right?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “But I gotcha covered.” She wanted to ask him why, but couldn't. She didn't understand his motives at all, unless they were the same as hers. He pulled a toothbrush off the rack and held it up for her. “Purple?” 

“Purple's fine,” she confirmed, taking it. They went together over to the coffee pot. He handed her a styrofoam cup and then poured one for himself. He grabbed a handful of individually wrapped pastries as they passed the snack rack, and then he set it all down for the cashier. 

“Y'all on your honeymoon?” the clerk asked, bored, looking at the toothbrush. Juliet felt her lips curl into a smile, slightly entertained by how very wrong he was, but James just stared back at the clerk silently. “Enjoy it now.” Juliet scooped up the goodies for him, and then deposited them in the passenger seat of the car, pushing her thumb through the seal on the toothbrush. 

“I'm just gonna --” She indicated a return to the bathroom to brush. He raised his head in acknowledgment. Her heart beat faster anyway, as she hurried. Was it always going to be like this now, worrying about being left? At least here it wasn't too far for Rachel to drive to come get her. She'd be annoyed but fine. Juliet had enough on her to blackmail her into an unwilling couple-hours drive. But what if they got to Arizona or something and he kicked her out there? 

Worry about it when it happens, she told herself, looking in the bathroom mirror. She'd already washed her face. She wound her hair up into something like a bun, tucking in the ends to secure it. She sighed a little with the relief she felt when she came out of the store and found him still there, sitting in the passenger seat, licking sugar off his fingertips. 

“Figure we can take a break in Atlanta,” he said, toying with the wrapper of another pack of mini-donuts, like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to eat them or not. 

“Why are we going this way, anyway?” she asked, since it would have made more sense to cut across the state westward, instead of heading north.

“I got some business in Alabama.” 

She nodded, remembering him saying he didn't have anywhere to be and wondering about it. 

“It'll be a quick stop,” he said, and tossed her the donuts. “I ain't in a rush to get there.” 

“Okay.” She opened the plastic wrapper and bit into one of the chocolate-covered yellow cakes. Stale. Exactly how she liked them. She sipped her coffee, which was astoundingly hot. 

She got back in on the driver's side and put the car into gear, pulling back onto the highway. She took little sips of her coffee, which was still blistering, but that made up for how bad and burned it tasted. 

“You still hungry?” he asked. 

“I'm okay,” she said, and he tossed the rest of the pastries onto the back seat. 

“Anything interesting around here we can go see?” He looked around out the window. 

“Ever heard of Disney World?” she asked, and he looked at her. She couldn't help but laugh. “We don't know each other well enough to go to Disney World.” 

“Since when do you got to know a person to go to a carnival with 'em?” 

“Disney World is not a carnival,” she said, derisively. “It's a theme park.” 

He gave her a sidelong look. “I s'pose you been?” 

“Of course,” she said, and wished she hadn't put her hair up, because she had the urge to play with it now. She tugged the ends out of the twist and then put her hands back on the wheel. “We went for either my birthday or Rachel's every year. My sister. There's a new park they just opened, something about movies. I guess they're opening a Universal Studios here too. Not sure what the point of that is. Tourists.” She glanced at him. “What?” 

“Ain't no 'of course' about it,” he said, and his tone had a false lightness to it, covering something dark. 

“Oh. Yeah. I guess... a lot of people's parents don't take them.” She felt a little guilty for not thinking of this. She had never really considered her upbringing to be especially privileged. It was Florida – everyone went to Disney. 

“Mine sure as hell didn't.” He was frowning now. 

“I just meant, of course I've been, or otherwise how would I know we don't know each other well enough to go there. But we can. Go. If you want to.” This was awkward enough to make her reconsider the wisdom of this whole adventure. 

“I'm a bit too old for that, sweetheart.” 

“Never too old,” she said, but she smiled, because the word “sweetheart” coming from his lips touched something in her. Somehow, it wasn't creepy or rude. She liked it. She liked him. “But it's okay, because instead we can go to... Xanadu!” She flipped on the turn signal. 

“Xanadu?” he asked doubtfully. 

“Not the roller skating movie with Olivia Newton John. Although... that's good too.” 

“I'm more of a Grease guy myself.” 

She sighed. “Of course you are. Tight leather pants Sandy, right? Changing herself to impress a guy?” 

He practically rolled his eyes at her. “For the record, good-girl Sandy.” 

She raised an eyebrow. His dimples deepened. The look they shared turned into a moment, one she was sorry to end by putting the car in park. “We're here.” 

“Where's here? Kubla Khan?” 

“All that and he quotes poetry,” she said dryly. 

“Maybe I just seen Citizen Kane.” 

“The sled movie?” She grinned at his dark look. “You're a film buff.” 

“I had mono when I was a kid. Had a lot of time to watch teevee. Only got a couple channels, and one of 'em liked to play the oldies.” 

“Hmm,” she said, because she found it all very interesting. Both what he revealed, and that they were slowly sharing parts of their lives with each other as they touched on them in conversation. She pushed open the car door. The day was already muggy. Her bun gave way and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. She pushed it behind her ears, aware of James's eyes on her, and started for the building. 

The building, Xanadu, blindingly reflected its white paint in the Florida sun, and it was more of a blob than a house, with one tall spire sticking up into the sky like a tail. James stopped walking for a second and she watched him taking it all in. “It's the house of the future,” she said, still smiling. 

“On what planet?” 

“Oh, it gets better,” she promised, as they approached the door, which was staffed by a teenager in what was meant to be a futuristic outfit, featuring reflective tape. 

“He looks like a crossing guard,” James whispered into her ear, and his hot breath close against her skin made her shiver. 

The greeter-slash-crossing guard gave them the story of the house, which was made of polyurethane foam that had been formed over a series of extremely large, inflated balloons – one balloon for each room. James paid their entrance and they walked inside. Juliet sighed at the cold comfort of the aggressive air conditioning. 

“This place is weird,” James said. 

“I know,” Juliet said happily. 

“You been here before?” He looked at her and she shot him a look that said, obviously. “And you wanted to come back?” 

“They have a fake tree in the living room,” she said, putting her hand on it. “This is how we're going to live in the future, so you'd better start getting used to it.” She couldn't keep a straight face for more than a minute. She did love this cheesy, misguided place, and she loved seeing peoples' horrified reactions to it. 

She wondered briefly what Jack would have thought. How he would have reacted. Mostly he would have pointed out it wasn't on the way. He'd poured over maps, planning the most efficient route. Juliet still wasn't sure why she and James were headed north. Thinking about Jack made her feel sad, and slightly sick.

She and James walked slowly through the house together. James narrated the horrifying surprises at every turn. “Fireplace shaped like an elf hat.” 

“Don't forget the big old fountain in the living room. Every living room needs a water feature.” 

“Conversation pit. That's retro already... Boombox in the walls.” He poked the eject button to see if a tape would come out. It didn't. He shrugged at being denied futuristic music. “A round bed shaped like a champagne glass?” The bed was raised off the floor by the stem of the “glass”.

“Isn't it sexy?” she teased. 

“Where do they buy round sheets?” 

“In the future,” she reminded him. “I bet square sheets work. You just tuck in the rest.” 

“Unless it's a waterbed.” 

She looked at him, trying to hold back her smile. “James, do you have a waterbed?” 

“I'm trailer trash. Course I got a waterbed.” His smile was wicked, but then it faded and he looked out through the eight-sided window. “Had a waterbed. Ain't got nothin' now.” 

She wanted to ask him the off-limits question. Why he'd left Tennessee. She had the feeling he was running from something, and she wanted to know what. But then, wasn't everyone running from something? She supposed she was too, though she wouldn't be able to escape what she most wanted to run from, because it was inside her.

She threaded her arm through his, linking them at the elbows. He looked at her as though she was as strange as this house. “I always wanted a waterbed.” 

“Bet you had one a those ones with the curtains overhead.” He gestured with one hand. 

“A canopy bed?” she said, thinking of the one in her room at home and how desperately she'd wanted it when she was eight years old. 

“Fairy princess,” he teased again, using their linked arms to pull her in close to the heat of his body. His eyes roamed over her hair and for a second she thought maybe he would touch it – touch her. But then he closed his mouth and unbent his arm, breaking their link. He took a step toward the display bathroom of the future, and she stood in the middle of the bedroom wondering what had just happened. 

They wandered through the rest of the fifteen rooms. In the last one was a station with a pair of computers. There were two men sitting at them, the first people they'd seen throughout the entire house. One of them was around fifty with longish, thinning hair, and the other was probably thirty, wearing round-framed glasses and a sweater vest. A sweater vest at the end of summer in Florida.

Juliet looked for James, who had his hands in his pockets. She caught his eye and inclined her head toward the two men, one corner of her lips rising in a hidden smile. He widened his eyes exaggeratedly, and mouthed the words “sweater vest?” She could hardly keep from laughing. 

Though it was a very nice sweater vest – it looked almost handmade, with various colors threaded through it. Juliet edged a little closer so she could eavesdrop on their conversation. 

“Dad, you promised me that after this we'd head for the battlefields,” Mr. Sweater Vest said. “That is what this trip is about, after all.” 

“You an' your history nonsense,” the older man said dismissively. “This here's the future. This is what you should care about. You remember that time we went to the island?” 

“Yes, I remember.” 

“Should have stayed there. Maybe you woulda made something of yourself.”

“I made something of myself. I have a doctorate in European history.” 

James touched Juliet's hand to get her attention. She'd gotten too distracted by her eavesdropping. She followed him into the gift shop. “Happy couple,” he remarked. 

“Father and son, I think,” she said, and he shrugged. They made a perfunctory tour around the gift shop, handling postcards, t-shirts, collectible spoons, and of course, Xanadu: House of the Future: The Book. Gift shops were the best part of cheesy tourist attractions, even if you weren't buying anything. 

On the way back to the car, he held out his hand and she knew it was for the keys. She dug them out of the pocket of her tight, acid-washed jeans that were starting to stretch out around the knees from wearing them so long. 

“I know you loved it,” she said, trying to get back a bit of that flirting they had been doing. Or the easy friendship between near-strangers, anyway. 

“Ain't you tired after being up all night?” His eyes flicked over her again

She shrugged, and got in on the passenger side. He got in and she watched him move the seat back. He turned the key and put the car into gear. Then his hand came up behind her, on the back of the seat as he turned his head to back out of the parking space. She wanted it to drop down around her shoulders, but he placed it back on the wheel in the two o'clock position once they were driving forward again. 

He changed the radio station to country. 

“You're such a cliché.” She rolled her eyes. 

He frowned at that. “Same could be said about you, princess.” 

She chuckled. 

“What?” 

“I... have you seen Star Wars?” 

“Who the hell ain't seen Star Wars?” 

“It just... I know you meant it not in a nice way, but it reminded me of Han Solo. And Princess Leia.” 

“Don't let it go to your head.” 

She smiled and watched out the window, resting her arm along the door frame. He sang along with the radio, and his voice wasn't bad. He knew all the words to all the songs. She crossed her arms low against her stomach and let her eyes drift closed as the road lulled her.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

James got so busy watching her sleep that he almost drove off the road. He couldn't get over how damn beautiful she was, even in the daylight. And she was weird as well as funny, which he wouldn't have expected, but he deeply appreciated. That Xanadu place made a wood-paneled single-wide look good. But he'd had fun, with her.

The brakes squealed as he pulled into a parking space. She opened her eyes and he realized she hadn't been asleep, just resting. It made him look away. 

“Is this Atlanta?” 

“Couple more hours. Figured we could use some chow.” He needed a rest; he could see the white highway divider floating in front of his eyes when he blinked.

She nodded, holding back a yawn. They got out of the car and went into the McDonalds where he'd stopped. They stood in line together. He ordered a Big Mac and fries, and she requested a Happy Meal. He paid, and they took a booth in the corner to eat. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes. 

He hated her gratitude in a way he couldn't quite understand. Maybe he just didn't want her to feel like she owed him something. Because she didn't. This was his choice. “It's cheap,” he said, because he didn't know what else he could say. 

“It's nice,” she said, unwrapping her Happy Meal toy, which was a small plastic figurine of a character he didn't recognize. 

“I remember when that used to be the biggest treat,” he said, nodding to the cardboard box and the toy. 

“Me too,” she said, a little wistfully. She closed her hand over the toy and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans. “Do you like kids?” 

“Don't know any.” He sensed that wasn't the answer she was looking for as she absorbed it. 

“What's there to do in Atlanta?” she asked. 

“Not much unless you like Coke,” he said, then clarified, “The drink.” She nodded. “Do you?” 

“It's bad for you.” She'd requested a carton of milk with her meal, and she sipped it from the ridiculously long yellow-striped straw protruding from the opening. 

He conceded her point and drank his sweet tea. He thought about the milk service they used to have in school when he was a little kid. They'd have a break in the middle of the morning and everyone who brought their ten cents could get a little carton from the milk crate, either white or chocolate milk. He remembered how bad he wanted that chocolate milk, how he'd try to scam either it or a dime away from the other kids in the class, because he never had the money. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asked. 

“Sex,” he replied automatically, with a grin, and met her eyes. She blinked at him like she knew he was lying. He sighed and decided to be honest. “Nah, I was thinkin' about how this little girl in like second grade always used to get two cartons of chocolate milk. She was the most popular, but thinkin' about it now, she was kind of heavy, too.” 

“Probably from all that milk.” 

“I'm sure she had strong bones. Anyway, one day she looks over like she's noticed me coveting her second carton. So she hands it to me. And I was so fuckin' grateful, til she looked down her pretty little nose at me and said, 'It's just because I feel sorry for you.'” He looked at Juliet and she looked at him sadly. “I drank it anyway.” 

“Kids are cruel,” Juliet said. 

“Yeah.” He sighed. “How 'bout you?” 

“How 'bout me what?” she asked. 

“I thought we were having sharin' time.” He gave her a look. She raised an eyebrow, but her expression didn't change. “If you ain't got any stories, what were you thinking about?” 

“Sex,” she replied, in the same tone he'd used, and her eyes dared him to call her a liar. 

“Yeah, right.” He took the last bite of his burger and crumpled up the paper sleeve the fries had come in. He looked at her food, which was mostly gone. She was toying with the handle on the cardboard Happy Meal box. “You ready?” he asked. 

“Thank you again. For the meal,” she said, placing her trash in the little box and setting it back on the tray. 

“Kinda wish you'd stop bein' grateful.” 

“Oh, is that what your story was about?” she asked, and her voice was cold. 

He frowned, surprised by her response. “No.” He checked himself, to see if she was right and he just hadn't realized it. His frown deepened. 

“Okay,” she said mildly. 

He picked up the tray and walked over to the trash can and dumped the contents in, then set the tray in its collection spot on top. She lingered by the door, waiting for him. He stole another glance at her. She pushed open the door, holding it for him while he walked through, then following. 

“I'm just sayin' you don't have to be grateful,” he said, as they settled back into the car. 

“Then what should I be?” she asked. 

His sigh was more like a growl. He should have dropped this. It was just frustrating him now. “Don't be anything. I'm not doin' this for thanks.” 

“What are you doing it for, James?” Her voice was low and smooth, almost seductive on his name if he didn't know any better. 

He stopped and thought about it. Looked out the window at the garish fast food colors, and the cars rushing by on the highway just beyond. “Don't rightly know,” he said, but that was a lie too. He reached inside for honesty, even though it scared him, because even though he barely knew her, he trusted her. Maybe because he barely knew her. How screwed up was that? “Maybe I just don't want to be alone.” 

“Nobody wants to be alone, James,” she said, and when he looked at her, her face was turned away. 

“Guess so,” he agreed. He pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the freeway. The radio filled some of the silence between them. 

Forty-five minutes or so later of not talking, the country station they'd been listening to began to fade into static. Juliet reached out before he could, twirling the dial in search of something else. He wondered if they'd talk if she wasn't able to find another station, but then she caught the sound of a pop song and settled on that station. 

The song changed and absently he began to sing along. A moment later, she piped up to join in, singing along with him. If what she was doing could be called singing. Her voice was so terrible he had to laugh. 

“What?” she asked. 

“You ain't doing that on purpose?” 

“Singing?” 

“Flat and off-key,” he clarified. She closed her mouth and looked out the window. He was sorry that he'd said anything. As bad as it was, she seemed like she enjoyed it, and it had been fun, the two of them almost having a duet. He wished he could take the words back. He glanced at her again, and realized he'd learned something about her. He'd have to be more careful. 

They hit Atlanta mid-afternoon, before rush hour, but the traffic was still terrible. James got tired of fighting it. They had to stop to rest anyway – a real rest, not just trading off drivers or stretching in a parking lot while they shared a Coke. There was no real hurry to this road trip, no reason to keep driving night and day. So when he saw the sign for the Motel 6, he put on his blinker and pulled off the highway. “This okay?” he asked. 

She gave him an indescribable look, which he decided to take as a yes. Turning off the car, he pulled the key out of the ignition and headed into the office to rent a room for the night. 

“That the missus in the car?” the clerk asked, craning his neck to try to see Juliet more clearly. She'd stayed behind in the passenger seat. 

They were in the South, which sometimes felt like it was also the past. He was only nineteen and she didn't have any ID. He didn't want to stir up any trouble, and he didn't want to have to keep driving to find another place. “Yeah,” he lied. 

“Pretty,” the clerk said, taking another look past him. The room key slid across the counter in exchange for a couple of James's bills. He took it and sailed back out of the motel office, back to the car. 

Juliet got out of the car when she saw James coming. He opened the trunk and pulled out his backpack, slinging it over one arm as they walked over to the room. He pushed the door open and let her walk in first. 

“They didn't leave the light on for us,” she observed, walking directly to the air conditioner and turning it on full blast. It rattled noisily and let out a burst of mildew-scented air, but then settled down into a low, cold hum. 

There was only one bed. It was not round or shaped like a champagne glass like at the house of the future, but it was still one bed. With one hell of an ugly bedspread on it.

“It's fine,” she said, like she could read his thoughts. 

“I'm not expecting anything,” he said, gently, and meant it. He was thinking back to their conversation earlier, and all the hours of silence that had followed it. 

“It'd be okay if you were,” she said, then sat down on the bed. “I mean, not like –“ She tried to backtrack. She looked out the window. “I'm not a slut.” When she looked at him again, he could barely stand the vulnerability in her eyes. 

“Who said you were?” he asked. 

She met his eyes and gave him a brutal, ugly smile. Then her gaze slid away again. His hands fisted up at his sides, thinking of her asshole boyfriend. Ex. Ex-boyfriend. He wondered what else that guy had said to her. Done to her. It wasn't right to hate a guy you'd never met, but that had never stopped James before. 

“Look, I'm gonna wash up,” he said. “Been drivin' almost two days straight.” 

She nodded. He looked at her another moment, wanting to say something, but he'd run out of words. So he dug through his bag for all his gear, then went into the bathroom and closed the door. He heard her crying by the time his shirt came off over his head, and he froze. He wanted to go out there and hold her and tell her it'd be okay. But some things just didn't end up being okay, and he had the feeling her situation was one of them. 

He also didn't trust himself. Holding her would be a slippery slope, because she was pretty and smart and he liked her. He didn't want anything from her that she wasn't willing to give, but he wanted her. It was already going to be tough sharing that bed with her, trying to get the sleep he needed. He turned on the shower, drowning out the sound of her tears and hopefully all of his desires. After he finished undressing, he got under the hot water. 

He heard her talking when he emerged. Her voice was quiet, but not that quiet. He frowned, then realized she must be talking on the phone. He crept over to the door to listen. 

“Rachel, it's fine,” she insisted. “He's fine... I told you, James... You don't need to know that. We went to Xanadu and he hated it. He's a normal person, just like you... yes, Xanadu... yes, on purpose!” He smiled in spite of himself, listening to her. There was a long pause as he figured her sister was giving her an earful. “I should go, this is probably costing a fortune,” she said, then there was another pause. “Listen, did Jack call?... No, okay. Okay. I'll call you again tomorrow, love you, bye.” 

He sighed, thinking about Jack. The asshole ex. James combed his hair, slicking it back so that when it dried it would fall into waves on its own. He didn't think it looked so bad wet and combed back, either. He contemplated the shadow on his jaw, deciding whether to shave it or leave it. It was very Miami Vice. He knew she'd laugh at him for thinking so, but he still thought it was cool.

He heard her voice again from the other side of the door. She wasn't talking to him. He walked over to the door to be able to listen in again. 

“Hi Jack, it's me. I'm not sure why I'm leaving you this message except to say you're a jerk. Hopefully you're listening to it, because if you aren't, that would mean you didn't not call Rachel because you already knew I was okay, but that you didn't call her because you don't care. Just like you said in the car. I wish I could hate you. Bye, Jack.” 

James finished up in the bathroom. He was hesitant to turn the knob and come out, because he was afraid she might be crying again. She wasn't making any noise, though, so maybe it was safe. If she was crying, he'd have to put his arms around her and then all his self-control would be lost. Feeling like he should knock to alert her that he was rejoining her, he gathered all his courage and stepped out. 

She sat on the bed with her knees drawn up, hugging them. The TV was on with the sound turned off. She stared in its direction, not watching. Her eyes were dry. 

“Hey,” he said, and she turned her head to look at him. “Your turn.” 

She nodded. “I called my sister,” she said. “I know motel calls are expensive but --” 

“Don't worry about it,” he told her. 

“I wasn't sure where we were going next or I'd have asked her to wire the money.” 

“Don't worry about it,” he said again evenly. 

“Where are we going next?” 

“Ever been to New Orleans?” He watched her shake her head. “Want to go? It ain't that far, it can be on our way. Figure we can have ourselves a little fun on this here road trip.” 

“Okay,” she said, not quite the reaction he'd been looking for. She slid off the bed. “I want to rinse out my clothes, can I borrow a t-shirt to wear for awhile?” 

“Help yourself,” he said, and sat down on the end of the bed to rotate through the television channels. 

She opened his backpack, rummaging through it, and a second later she stopped. His shoulders stiffened. “What's this?” she asked with a catch in her voice. His heart sank as he turned, knowing he was going to see her standing there with a roll of bills in her hand. 

“You weren't exactly supposed to see that,” he said. 

“Did you steal this money?” 

“No. Not exactly. It's mine,” he said. Out of nervous habit he moved his head to shake his hair back out of his eyes, even though it was wet and not hanging in his face. “I earned that money. Workin'. But I fell in with these guys and kinda made a deal with them. I changed my mind, but they said it was too late. I could pay 'em – plus interest at a hundred percent – or they'd kill me.” 

“Is that true?” she asked. Her eyes were wide on his.

He sighed. “Yeah.” 

“That's why you're here. You're running.” 

“That's why I'm here,” he confirmed. 

“Why not go to the police?” 

“Did you not hear the gonna kill me part?” 

“Okay,” she said, and tucked the money back into his bag. “I'm sorry.” She pulled out his blue henley shirt, and disappeared into the bathroom. 

He sighed and lay back on the bed, thinking about what an idiot he was. He listened to the water run and couldn't help imagining her in the shower. He groaned and closed his eyes, trying to force the vision out of his head and out of his body. The shower stopped, and he grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed to casually hug, though they were both old enough to know there was only one reason why guys liked to hug pillows, and wasn't for comfort. 

She came out of the bathroom in his blue shirt and not much else. Her legs were long and bare and her hair was damp from the shower. She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the TV. After a minute, she curled up on her side, facing him. “I don't know why I'm so tired if I slept in the car.” 

“You drove all night and then only caught a couple winks in the car,” he pointed out. 

“I've been tired a lot lately,” she said, and let her eyes close. “We can go eat after a nap.” 

Here he was, watching her sleep again. After a moment, he decided a nap was a good idea too. He was certainly exhausted enough. Moving the pillow he was holding, he put it under his head and closed his eyes. 

When he opened them again, the room was dim except for the flashing bright pictures from the TV filling the room. He was curled around Juliet, with his arm draped across her waist and his knees tucked into the backs of hers. They must have snuggled up in their sleep, he thought. Maybe she needed some comfort. Hell, maybe he did, too. 

Instinctively, he tightened his arm to hold her closer while he inhaled the scent of her hair. He didn't mean to do anything more than that, and didn't mean to wake her. 

“James?” she whispered. He held his breath, and started to lift his hand from her skin. But she covered his hand with hers. “It's okay. I want you too.” 

He inhaled, and let his hand drift down along her skin. She took a deep breath that he could feel against his hand, and in the way her back pressed against his chest. He didn't quite understand why she'd said it was okay, but in their sleepy, relaxed state, lying so close together, it only felt right. 

She moaned when he touched her. He'd never heard that kind of a noise from a woman before and it caught him off-guard. He gentled his touch, steeling himself for her protest, but she put her hand over his again, so he'd keep going. 

“Juliet,” he said, halfway a question. She rolled onto her back, looking up at him. Her eyes were dark blue. They weren't turning back from this now.

“Just kiss me first, James,” she said.

He did as she said, pressing his mouth down against hers. She kissed him back urgently and her passion was exciting. It felt like it was everything he'd ever wanted. There was no way to make the moment last. It went fast, faster than he wanted, and it almost took him by surprise when he came. 

He opened his eyes and found her watching him. He stroked back her hair with all the tenderness he had in him. He wanted to kiss her again, and say something perfect. Instead what came out of his mouth was, “I meant to pull out.” 

His face flushed and he watched as her blue eyes turned ice cold. “Good news, James, you can't get me pregnant.” She pulled away from him, until she was sitting up in the bed. He raised his head to look at her. He didn't understand, until she put her hand on her abdomen. “You told me your secret, so there's mine. I'm pregnant.” 

He just kept looking at her, knowing his mouth was open but not finding any words to say. He was shocked and at the same time, he desperately wanted to touch her again, to pull her back into his arms and make the world go away again for a little while. 

Instead he sat up and shifted so he was sitting next to her. Then he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him, holding her. She needed to tell him the whole story now, and she needed comfort while she did. 

“We were fighting because he told me I was going to marry him,” she said. “Didn't ask me. Just told me.” He squeezed her a little harder. “I'm only nineteen. I'm supposed to have a future.” 

“I know, darlin',” he said. “I know.” He held her for a long time, rocking her a little, planting tiny kisses against her hair. Eventually it started to feel okay between them again. She wasn't so tense and cold. His thoughts weren't racing quite so fast. 

He sighed. “Maybe we should eat.” 

“I'd rather stay here,” she said. She turned her face up to look at him. Their eyes met and it all started to feel right, and exciting, again. He still wanted her. He might want her forever, and while her secret had startled him, it didn't change anything for him. He could see in her eyes that she wanted him too. Really wanted him, not just using him for comfort or a ride to LA. That was all he needed. 

They kissed, and it turned heated again. He used his fingers on her until her body shook. He smiled with satisfaction as he lay there with her for a long moment. He wanted to make this last all night. But he sighed heavily and said, “I'm starving.” 

“Me too,” she agreed. So they got up. 

…

There was an Olive Garden restaurant across the street from the motel, so they walked over there. Juliet flipped through the menu, feeling like she wanted everything and nothing. Her hips ached and her panties were still damp from where she'd washed them out in the sink and then put them back on before they were dry. She kept thinking about his mouth on hers, and his fingers, the way he felt inside her and the way he made her come so easily. 

He was so different from Jack. In every way. Pale green eyes instead of dark hazel; the dark blond hair hanging into his eyes; that he had a mere dusting of gold hair covering his tan skin. His voice was different, and his accent, and his breath. 

She couldn't believe she'd slept with him. 

She couldn't believe she'd told him.

Another stolen glance at him and she could only think about how she didn't regret it. Any of it. She'd wanted him, and he'd obviously wanted her. She didn't really understand why, or what they were doing here, but she'd decided miles back down the road that she didn't care. They were outside of time, outside of their lives, for this little while that they were traveling together. 

Jack's angry words filled her head and she didn't want them there. He'd called her a lot of ugly names that she knew he didn't really mean, but they hurt her anyway, because she had loved him. 

She hadn't slept with Jack since school let out. He'd worked most of the summer in LA, where his family lived, and there hadn't been time after he arrived in Miami to pick her up for their planned road trip. She was aware he'd had plans for their first night on the road. She wondered what had happened to those plans. If he'd canceled them to drive straight through. 

She still loved him, but they were not going to be together, even when she got back to LA and he inevitably begged and she felt weak. They'd always be connected, but they were finished. 

It didn't make her any of those names Jack had called her. 

She'd just expected it to take longer to find someone new. She hadn't intended any of this. She didn't love James, not yet. She thought she could, but she didn't intend to let herself fall. There were too many other things going on in her life right now. But she didn't have to be in love with him to sleep with him, especially when that was as good as it had been. 

“You're blushing,” James said, his words pulling her out of her reverie. 

“I am not,” she protested, raising a hand to her cheek and finding that it was hot to the touch. Maybe she was. She couldn't help it, but she could try to help her thoughts. 

“It's okay,” he said. “I'm thinking about it too.” 

Her face only flamed hotter as she looked at him, and thought about him thinking about her. Thinking about what they'd done together. Her breath grew shallow, thinking about doing it again. 

James looked away. His eyes darted around the restaurant. “Feels like I should be wearin' a tie.” 

“The waiters wear them so you don't have to,” she said, and she got a flash of his dimples in return. He wore a green t-shirt with a darker green band around the neck. “That's a good color on you. It brings out your eyes.” 

His eyes widened as he looked at her, wearing his blue henley. “You look pretty good there yourself, Blondie.” 

They smiled at each other again across the table, heated and shy of each other at the same time. 

They ordered pasta and the waitress delivered them salad and breadsticks. Juliet had two helpings of each and gulped down half a glass of ice water. 

“You ain't gonna have room for your supper.” 

“I will. I'm so hungry,” she said. “It's like I've never had food before.” 

She would swear she could hear him think the words “eatin' for two” but he had the grace not to say it. She wondered what he thought about that. About her expecting Jack's baby. About sleeping with someone who was knocked up with a kid that wasn't his. James didn't seem particularly bothered, and it made her wonder if he just didn't care at all. 

But one glance at him and the expression in his eyes told her that he cared. 

“How did you earn it?” she asked, thinking about his own secrets that he'd confessed to her. The shock finding a thick roll of money in his bag and the strange weight of it as she had held it. 

He pushed his hair back with his hand. “Been workin' since I was old enough to push a lawn mower.” 

“What else did you do?” 

“Anythin' that needed doing and would pay a couple bucks. Odd jobs, cleaned motel rooms for awhile, overnight stockboy. Sold cars this past year. Didn't suck at that.” 

“I bet you were good at it.” 

“Tellin' a guy you think he'd be a good used car salesman ain't exactly a compliment,” he pointed out, giving her a wry grin.

She shrugged because he had a point, though that wasn't how she'd meant it. “What were you saving for?” 

“You ever held down a job?” He changed the subject swiftly, so she knew she'd hit a nerve. She frowned a little, wondering what nerve it had been. She wanted to understand him. She had the feeling that he was the definition of still waters running deep, and she never would completely know him, even if they were together thirty years. 

“I worked at The Wherehouse.” She caught the slight, interested raise of his eyebrows, and clarified. “The WH-wherehouse. Music store. And movies. Not a warehouse, like where they store things.” 

“Pretty girl workin' in a music store,” he said. “Imagine that.” 

“You keep saying that, but I'm not,” she said, frustrated, twisting her hair, letting it go, and then pushing it behind her. 

He made a noise that sounded like “ha,” and reached for his water glass, hiding a smile as though she'd said something funny. 

“I mean, it's reductive,” she said. “I'm not whatever stereotype you have in your head for an airhead generic 'pretty girl' who's lived some kind of easy life and only thinks about bikinis and boys.” 

“You got no idea what's in my head, about you or anyone else,” he said, his face darkening with a frown. 

She had the thought that she should take it back or play it off, because she was afraid he was going to start yelling at her the way Jack would have. But she didn't want to. He was the one who'd started it, if they were going to fight. Maybe they needed a good fight. 

He'll leave you, the voice in her head said. Stick you with the dinner bill you can't pay and lock you out of the motel. It made her heart beat faster and she tasted something metallic like terror in her mouth. She didn't like it, and she didn't want to fight with him. Not now. 

“So tell me,” she said softly. “What's in your head.” 

He opened his mouth. His lips looked so soft, and his eyes were vulnerable and real. It only lasted for a split second, before he put his frown back in place and said, “How hard you fishin' for a compliment here?” 

She shook her head, because that wasn't what she wanted at all. 

He pressed his lips together, and inclined his head, and sighed. Then he said, “You never looked down on the guys in your school for wearin' boots and raggedy denims, with dirt under their nails?” 

“Your nails are clean,” she pointed out. “I hadn't noticed you were wearing boots.” She peeked under the table now and saw that he was, brown work boots with thick soles. “I had my nose stuck too far in a book to look down on anyone.” 

He looked at her for a long time. “All righty,” he said finally, a little bit like he didn't believe her, and scooped up another bite of lasagna. 

She twirled more fettucine onto her fork. “You ever been to New Orleans before?” 

“Nope.” He hunkered down over his plate almost defensively, she observed. It made her want to steal the last breadstick, which rested on his plate. 

“Me either,” she said, and tried to think about something else to talk about. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” 

“Alive.” He glanced at her, not entirely without humor. “I don't know about you, darlin', but I am all growed up.” The look he gave her was hot and lingered on her chest. 

“Yeah.” She sighed, thinking about her passenger. “Guess I am too, now. Or I will be.” She sighed again. She didn't want to think about that now, or talk about it. She cast about for a neutral subject. “Do you have any pets?” 

“My uncle had a dog.” 

It seemed a strange response. “My sister had a lizard for awhile.” 

“At least it wasn't a snake,” he pointed out. 

She wished he'd hold up his end of the conversation. It was weird to be doing this with someone she'd already slept with. It was weird, she supposed, that she'd slept with someone she barely knew. A new experience for her, anyway. “How tall are you?” 

“Six-one, last I checked.” 

“That's a good height,” she said, and cringed inwardly at her own awkwardness. 

“I like it.” 

“I'm five-nine,” she offered. 

“Works for ya.” 

She ate more pasta before she could tell him how much she weighed, too. 

“What's your favorite TV show?” 

He put his fork down. “What is this, 20 questions?” 

“You're not giving me much to work with,” she pointed out. 

He sighed and picked up his fork again. She noticed he was left handed, but let it go without comment. If he wanted to sit and eat in silence, they could, she decided. It might be easier. 

“Recent, or ever?” he asked. 

“Either. Both.” 

“You gotta promise not to make fun of me.” 

“I already know you like Miami Vice, though now that I know you're wearing boots I assume you have socks on.” 

“Funny,” he said, and kept eating. 

“You're not gonna tell me?” 

“Favorite show of all time gotta be Little House on the Prairie,” he said, and the look he gave her just dared her to say something. 

“I liked that too,” she admitted, thinking back to all the days when she was fairly young that she and Rachel would run around in the tall grass and pretend to be pioneer girls. The memory made her smile. 

“How 'bout you?” 

She shrugged. “I liked Moonlighting when it started.” 

“Yeah, that was a good one. Ending was shit.” 

“And, like, it is so dorky but I loved the Brady Bunch so much when I was ten and my parents were getting divorced.” It felt like a confession, but she watched him absorb it without comment or any change in his expression. She supposed that any guy who declared his love for Little House on the Prairie couldn't say too much bad about the Brady Bunch. 

He looked at her plate. “You about done?” 

She took the last bite of her pasta and grabbed the breadstick he had left on his plate. He gave her a playful glare like he'd wanted it, and she shot back a smug smile. It made her feel carefree for a moment. She ate the bread while he settled up with the waitress, then they walked outside, unwrapping the Andes mints provided at the end of the meal. Juliet let hers dissolve on her tongue.

The night air was cool and somehow the motel looked inviting, with all the windows lit up. She thought about the families on vacation and other travelers who occupied the rooms. James rested his hand on the small of her back as they crossed the parking lot. His touch made her breath hitch in her chest, but then she relaxed. She liked the way it felt. Like they were comfortable together. Jack had rarely touched her when they were out in public. 

“I wanta get an early start tomorrow,” James said, when they were back in the room with the little chain hooked up across the door. 

“Sure,” she said. She unzipped her jeans and then bent down to work them off over her feet. 

When she turned, she found James looking at her, wide-eyed and startled. She hadn't expected him to be looking at her. She gave him a tiny, self-conscious smile and he looked like he'd just remembered what breathing was. He reached for the buckle on his belt and she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. He joined her after a minute, wearing his boxers and his t-shirt, reaching around her for the toothpaste. They looked at each other in the mirror. It was quiet and comfortable, getting ready for bed, together.

They lay on top of the covers for a while, listening to the air conditioner. He read, and she half-heartedly watched a baseball game on TV. The second time his eyes drifted closed, only to startle back open when his grip relaxed on the book and it touched his nose, Juliet had to laugh. He looked at her, creasing down the page and putting the book on the bedside table. She got up to turn off the TV.

He got into bed, turning on his side to face away from her. He switched off the lamp. Juliet lay down on her back and moved her toes underneath the sheet, her eyes open wide. She listened to him sigh, and then made a decision. She rolled over onto her side, draping her arm over his waist, wrapping herself around him, and then she felt like she could sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

James put his hand on her shoulder the next morning, early, to shake her awake. She groaned and tried to burrow more deeply into the sheets. “Juliet,” he said softly. 

“I'm up,” she whined, sitting up with her hair falling into her face, which was screwed up like a petulant child's. Her eyes were still closed, and it while it was clear to him that she wanted to sleep later, he could also see she was getting up. 

So he went into the bathroom to get ready and to give her some space. He washed his face and brushed his teeth and contemplated shaving. He still liked the stubble, so he left it. When he came out of the bathroom, she was lying on the bed, holding her breath and pulling on the zipper of her jeans. 

“They were like this before,” she said. 

“Course they were,” he said, and started shoving his stuff back into his backpack. The first thing he did was put his hand in and touch the roll of bills, reassuring himself that they were still there. He didn't think anything had happened to them, but he still needed to check. 

“You know less about girls than you think you do,” she said, and must have finished with the zipper because she sat up and looked at him. 

“You tell me,” he said darkly, remembering her last night under his hands. He knew enough. 

“What I mean is that every girl in the country has to lie down to zip her jeans,” she said. “Cause tight jeans are in. If you don't like it, stop staring at my ass.” 

“But it's such a nice little ass,” he said, tempted to put his hands on it and pull her hips against his. He could stick his hands in her back pockets and chase her lips with his, tipping her head back. But he didn't move, just gave her a wicked little grin instead, and watched her as she walked the few steps into the bathroom to brush her teeth. 

She didn't have anything to feel self conscious about, he thought, as his gaze lingered on her body while she brushed. He knew she was worrying about what she'd told him, worrying that it would change the way he saw her, or what he thought about her. Strangely, it didn't. He couldn't explain to himself why it didn't. He felt like sleeping together was the bigger change in their relationship and how he felt about her. 

She finished brushing her teeth and turned her head and he didn't look away, letting her catch him watching her. Surprise lifted her eyebrows, and then she kind of smiled like she was thinking about him, too. 

“Will you put this in your bag?” She walked over and handed him her toothbrush. 

He nodded and put it away. Ready to go, they went outside. He let her into the car and stopped in at the motel office to turn in the key. The sun was already high in the sky, since it rose early in the summer, but it wasn't humid yet. The morning air felt pleasant. “You need to eat?” he asked as he backed out of the parking space. 

“Still full from last night.” 

“We got them pastries if you get peckish,” he said, gesturing to the backseat, which still held a half-dozen packets of honeybuns and donuts. “You sleep okay?” 

“Mmm,” she agreed, watching out the window. He looked over at her. She had a dreamy expression on her face and he wondered what she was thinking about. Or who. She seemed to feel his gaze on her because she looked at him. This time, he looked away, busying himself with the tasks of driving.

“Where are we going?” she asked. 

“LA, unless you changed your mind.”

“I meant today,” she said. 

He sighed, and said nothing. He had to ask himself if their destination was a good idea. If he wanted to deal with her and the questions it would bring up. But he didn't feel like he had a choice, so they were going. He could stuff down his emotions and ignore her questions. 

“What's your last name?” she asked. 

“Twenty questions,” he said, his stubborn streak surfacing. Did any of this stuff really matter? 

“You want to play twenty questions for real?” she asked. “It's a road trip game.” 

“I swear to god, if you start singing 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall --” He almost said he'd put her out of the car. It made his heart race, at how close he came to almost saying it. He never would actually do it. He wondered what would have happened if he hadn't been there, at the Waffle House. Would the waitresses have looked after her? Did the asshole ever come back? 

He glanced at her, feeling a little panicky, but she hadn't noticed at all. It felt strange to him, caring about her. 

“I'm thinking of something,” she said, looking out the window and starting the game. 

“It's a horse.” 

“How –?” she sputtered with surprise. 

“Girls always think of a horse.” He sighed, remembering her words from the night before. She could be just as prickly as he could when she wanted to. He liked that about her. “There I go, stereotypin' again.” 

“Have you ever ridden a horse?” 

“Yeah. You?” 

“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed. “Are you thinking of something yet?” 

He sighed again, because the things he was thinking of were not good for twenty questions. “Go.” 

She failed to guess that he was thinking of a platypus. “I was so close!” she cried. “I said a duck.” 

“This game has no stakes,” he realized. Win or lose, the results were the same. 

“I'm thinking of something really good,” she said. “You won't guess it.” 

He got spaceship on question 17. He let her have an easy one, and she got barn on question six. 

“This ain't no fun if we don't bet it on it or somesuch,” he said. 

“It's just a game to pass the time,” she protested. She folded her arms and sat back. “We don't have to play. Road trips are a good time to think.”

He figured she had plenty to think about. So did he. The steering wheel slipped against his sweaty hands, and his foot dragged on the accelerator. He wanted to slow down, to find a place to stop, to never get to this destination he'd chosen. It was rapidly approaching as the wheels ate up the road. 

Searching for distraction, he spun through the radio dial and found a good station playing pop rock. They listened for awhile, and he started to sing along without thinking. It cleared his head. 

She cracked open her window, letting in the breeze and the sound of the wind. He opened the window on his side as well, and cranked the volume of the radio higher to account for the noise of the road. 

She joined in with the singing, and he decided he didn't mind her utter inability to carry a tune. Her enthusiasm was cute, and she did little dance moves in her seat, shaking her head so her curls floated around her shoulders. He wished he could stop the car just to watch her, but that would ruin the moment. 

But Madonna ruined the moment for them instead, when “Papa Don't Preach” came up next on the radio. Juliet reached out to change the station, but there weren't any others except one where the farm report was droning. So she put it back. She closed her window. He could feel the tension filling the car now, rolling off her in waves, as Madonna sang about keeping her baby. James spun the volume knob down, silencing the pop princess. 

He wet his lips and drew in a deep breath. “What're you going to do?” he asked her, figuring they might as well talk about it instead of letting it simmer. It might do her some good, and he didn't mind listening. Besides, he was curious. 

“Hope it gets born during spring break,” she said. “It's possible.” 

He looked at her, and she looked out the window. His eyes returned to the road unspooling in front of them. 

“After that, though...” Her voice turned thin and rose at the end. His shoulders tensed at the thought of her crying. She took a deep breath and continued normally, “I don't know. I was counting on Jack's help. Stupidly thinking we'd be together. His family has money, so maybe we could have gotten a babysitter or something so I could keep going to classes. It's his first year of med school.” 

“Ain't there a thing called child support?” 

“I guess,” she said. “I hadn't thought about it. And maybe his mom would still want to watch the baby sometimes.” 

“What about your mama?” 

She shifted miserably in her seat, and he didn't ask anything more. 

“Your sister?” he asked. 

“Rachel's got her own life. It's not fair that anyone else should have to pay for my screw-up. And she's in Miami, and school's in LA. I want to stay in LA. Finish school. I really want to be a doctor.” 

He wanted to ask what she would do if she couldn't. If she had to take a couple years off, or if she never got the chance. Instead he said, “Was it? Your screw-up.” She looked at him. “Takes two,” he pointed out. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “The condom broke.” 

“Happens.” 

“I should have been on the pill,” she said. 

“It ain't your fault,” he said, forcefully, because he had the impression she needed to hear it. “The other night, that when you told him?” 

“No, it's been a few weeks,” she said. “I called him as soon as I was sure. We already had the trip planned, for him to come out and get me and we'd drive back to school together. Like a vacation.” 

“How'd he take it?” 

“I think he was stunned. Probably thinking all his plans were off track now. He got through college in three years, and planned to get through med school in three as well. If anyone can, he can.” she said. 

James's hands were tight on the wheel. He really didn't like the sound of this guy. He'd already decided he was going to punch his lights out if he ever saw him again. Nothing she was saying now was changing his mind.

“I guess he made new plans,” she said. “Since he didn't bother to propose, just told me we were getting married and I am having the baby and if it's boy we are naming it after his father. I guess if it's a girl, I can name it. He hates his father.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs, and it drew his eye. “That's when I said no, and what about my plans, and he called me names, and you know the rest.” 

“You could give it up,” James offered. Even though he knew she must have thought through her choices a dozen times by now. “Or --” 

“I'm pro-choice, James,” she said sharply. “But I want it. I don't know why.” She looked at him. “What would you do? If it was you?” 

“How'd you know there ain't a dozen little James and Jamesina's back at the trailer park right now?” He couldn't help deflecting the question. The thought of getting some girl knocked up made his breath catch in his chest. He had to give her credit, she didn't seem at all terrified, which is how he would feel if it was him. But he still knew he would never do what her ex had done.

“Jamesina?” she asked.

He shook his head. 

“I know because you're asking these questions,” she said, her voice low and smooth as honey, and he had to look at her again. 

“I don't know what I'd do,” he admitted honestly, and raked his hand through his hair to push it back. It fell right back into place. He decided to keep the focus on her. “You get sick? Any o' that?” 

“Just tired sometimes, and starving. And some things are pretty sensitive, but, um.” She stopped, belatedly embarrassed. “I guess you kind of found that out last night.” 

He thought again of how she tasted and the sounds she made, and his cock ached. He couldn't tell her that was just about the hottest thing ever in his life so far, so he just said, “Reach me one of those snacks.” 

She twisted around to reach into the backseat. “Honeybun or Donettes?” 

“Honeybun.” 

She pulled off the wrapper before she put it in his hand so he could eat and drive. He ate it in three bites and then licked the stickiness from his fingers. Glancing at her, he saw her popping the mini-donuts into her mouth and risked the radio again. 

They fell into a duet on Kenny Rogers' nice, safe The Gambler, and it almost made him forget where they were going. 

…

Juliet didn't ask where they were going again, though she was certainly curious, even as he took the turn off into a small town where the speed limit was 25 miles per hour, or when he pulled in through the cemetery gates. The car rolled to a stop and he said, “You can stay here.” It was more of an order than a suggestion. He pushed the door open and got out, leaving the key in the ignition so she could run the radio or the air conditioner. 

She grabbed the key and scrambled after him, not about to be left behind. She had to hurry as he loped across the neatly trimmed green grass with long strides. James came to a stop, and she stood next to him. There was only one reason why they would be here. He glanced at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. Impulsively she grabbed his hand, threading her fingers through his, giving it constant pressure. He squeezed back. 

As she looked down at the grave, she realized she still didn't know what his last name was. Funny that they'd come so far and done so much but were still discovering the basic facts of each other. They stood over a headstone that had two names on it. James had driven miles out of the way and gotten up at the crack of dawn to pay his respects to Warren and Mary Ford. Mary had been born the same year as Juliet's dad. Warren was a couple of years older. She blinked as she realized they had both died on the same day in 1976.

“You were six?” she asked the man she presumed to be James Ford. 

“Almost seven.” 

She nodded. He must not have had his birthday yet this year, since he'd said he was still nineteen like she was. He'd be twenty before 1989 ended. 

They stood there in silence. The morning wind was still cool, and somewhere a bird was calling without an answer. Juliet wanted to ask questions, but she couldn't. Her jaw felt locked and her tongue was dry. She felt the press of his palm against hers. 

He took a deep breath. “I can wait in the car,” she offered, overtaken with a sudden urge to run and hide and leave him alone. She started to pull away, but his hand kept holding hers, hard. He didn't want to be alone. So she waited, looking down at the stone. Thinking about his life and feeling her own mortality. 

Eventually, James nodded. Then he turned and started to walk back to the car, slowly now that his goal had been accomplished. He still held her hand, only letting go when they reached the car, and then only because they had to go in opposite directions to get in. She wanted to touch him, to place her fingers on his chin and kiss him gently and then somehow say the perfect words. Instead, she sat down in the passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt. 

He rubbed his eyes, even though they were dry. Juliet watched him, but he didn't look at her. “There's another thing I gotta do, first,” he said, turning the key. The air conditioning began to blow, and Juliet turned down the volume on the radio. It felt like it was a time to be quiet. She looked out the window at the small homes and dying main street as he made slow, careful turns through the town. 

After parking, he reached for her hand again as they walked up the sidewalk to a small, one-story brick building that looked like a bank, but when they got close had a sign saying it was a library. Juliet wondered at it, because it seemed an odd choice of places to visit after a cemetery. James paused for a moment when they walked in, his head turning as he looked around. Juliet inhaled the scent of decaying paper and old books, looking at his face. His eyes were wide and he had a wrinkle in the center of his forehead that made him look like he was worried. She wanted to smooth it away, but it was the only thing that betrayed how he might be feeling. 

He headed for the reference desk and Juliet went with him.

The librarian behind the desk was an older woman with white hair and glasses on a neck-chain. She glanced at them. “How can I help you?” she asked. 

James smiled at the librarian, a broad, real smile. “Miz Carroll?” 

After a moment, the woman raised her hand to her chest and surprise registered in her eyes. “Oh my stars, it's little Jimmy Ford. I'd know that smile anywhere. Just look at you!” She came around the edge of the desk. James dropped Juliet's hand in anticipation of the hug he was about to receive, and Juliet watched as he hugged the older woman in return. “What are you doin' back in town? I haven't seen you since the day --” She stopped herself. “How old are you now?” 

“Nineteen,” he answered. 

Mrs. Carroll glanced at Juliet. Juliet felt herself shrinking under the look, as though the woman could sense she wasn't southern and didn't belong here without her even opening her mouth. “I'll --” Juliet began to walk away, but James captured her hand again and held it, hard. 

“Nineteen,” Mrs. Carroll repeated. “You're a man now.” She looked him over again. 

“I wanted to ask you,” he said. “Do you remember anything about the man – who --” 

“Oh, sugar, I'm sorry. Maybe the police --” 

He shook his head vehemently. “They only have the official story, the facts. I know you know everything that happens in this town.” 

“Well, he was long gone before all the – unpleasantness,” Mrs. Carroll said. Juliet noticed she'd put her lipstick on a little crooked; the bright color didn't quite line up with her mouth. She was older than she'd first appeared, as well. Closer to seventy than fifty. 

“Even what he looked like. You must have seen him. Met him.” 

She shook her head. “Jimmy,” she said, sternly.

“Please,” he said. 

Mrs. Carroll relented. “Well, let's see now. He was tall. Blue eyes and brown hair. His teeth were a little funny, crooked and stuck out a bit.” She thought for a minute. “That's about all I can remember.” 

“You ever hear any names for him?” James asked. “Anything other than...” 

“You know my brother in law worked for the police department back then, Jimmy,” Mrs. Carroll said. “Why do you want this information, anyway?” 

“I'm old enough now. I'm trying to understand,” he said. “You heard about Doug?” 

“Yes,” she said. “That surely was such a shame. Now let me think, I do think my brother in law told me something about all this. I think they did find out his name. I think it was Anthony Cooper, though I could be remembering it not quite right. Do you want me to call up my brother in law? I'm sure John would love to talk to you, Jimmy.” 

“No, thank you, Mrs. Carroll. We're just passing through, and have to be on our way,” James said, but he didn't move to leave. “It was good to see you again.” 

“Don't be a stranger now, dear. And you marry that girl, you hear me? It's clear to see she's in trouble.” 

“Oh my God,” Juliet said, before she could stop herself. At Mrs. Carroll's glare, she put her hand over her mouth. She pulled her hand out of James's and headed for the door. She heard the heavy footfalls of his boots behind her as he jogged to catch up. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, once they were outside and speed-walking toward the car. 

“Don't be,” she said. She couldn't believe he was apologizing to her, even though her face still flamed with intense embarrassment. “I'll drive.” She put her hand out for the keys. He gave them to her, and she got in on the driver's side. 

“She's always been a gossipy old bitch,” James said. 

“We were holding hands,” Juliet conceded, and gave him a look. “Jimmy.” 

“I ain't Jimmy no more,” he said, and when she looked at him, he was looking out the window at the town passing by as she found her way back to the freeway. 

“Do you want to tell me?” she asked, but silence prevailed. She didn't want to press him, though her mind worked to try to add up everything she'd seen and heard, to try to pull it together into a coherent story. She didn't have enough pieces. After a minute, when it was clear that James was not going to tell her anything, she reached for the radio to turn it up. 

They were more than halfway across Mississippi when he said, “I'll tell you a story.” 

She waited, holding her breath, because she knew if she said or did anything right now, he wouldn't tell her. And she desperately wanted to know, even though she knew it wasn't going to be a good story. 

“I ain't never told this story before.” He ran his tongue across his lips, and took a sip from the Big Gulp in the cup holder from their last stop. “Folks either already knew, or they didn't, and I was fine with 'em not knowing.” He sighed, and his entire body was tense. “When I was six... my daddy had himself a temper. And my mama did something that made him real mad. He shot her.” 

Juliet managed not to gasp, but her hands trembled on the steering wheel. Of all the things she'd been expecting, that she'd been able to think up over the past few hundred miles, she never could have come up with that. 

“Then he shot himself.” James took a deep breath and slowly let it out, keeping himself perfectly calm. “I was hidin' under the bed. Heard the whole thing. The blood... soaked... Anyway. He woulda shot me, too, if he knew I was there.” 

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm so, so sorry.” The words weren't enough. She couldn't even imagine. 

“No good bein' sorry,” he said. “Like my uncle told me. What's done is done. But I couldn't come this way without payin' my respects.” 

Warren and Mary Ford, she thought. Died on the same day in 1976. She tried to imagine witnessing it at any age, and couldn't. She wanted to ask him about the library and the man he was asking about. A man who was involved somehow. It didn't take him telling her for her to be able to figure that one out. His mother must have had an affair and his father found out. 

For some reason, she thought of Jack while she looked at James. 

“Anyway. Now you know,” he said, around the thumbnail he'd put into his mouth. She'd never seen him do that before. “Know more about me than any other girl I ever been with.” 

“Have you ever been in love, James?” she asked. 

“That is one weird-ass follow-up question,” he said. His not answering was answer enough. 

…

The air felt different when they reached New Orleans. The afternoon had passed quietly in the car, with each of them thinking and the radio to break the silence. They'd switched drivers at their last pit stop, so it was James who drove past the Superdome, headed for the French Quarter. The streets narrowed into one-ways. Juliet watched out the window attentively as he slowed for each street sign, looking for the hotel they'd booked at the visitor information place. 

Their room at the Place d'Armes was in an old building with brick showing through the white plaster walls. The bed was an old-fashioned four-poster. James set down his backpack and walked out onto the balcony. It overlooked Jackson Square and the St. Louis Cathedral. In spite of himself, he felt excited. They were in a place neither of them had ever been, an old city with a reputation. He'd had enough sadness and navel-gazing for one day, or possibly a lifetime.

Juliet came out of the bathroom, where she'd washed her face and hands. “You ready?” he asked her. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Gonna see what there is to see.” They left the hotel and walked down the block, on the edge of Jackson Square, just past the Cathedral. 

“It's beautiful,” Juliet said, looking at the old Spanish architecture and the foliage of the park. 

At the end of the block was the green and white striped awning of Cafe du Monde. It smelled deliciously of fried dough and chicory coffee. “Hungry?” James asked, joining the line without waiting for her response. He already knew the answer. 

He ordered beignets and chocolate milk and carried them over to the table Juliet had secured for them. He set them down, pinning the paper napkins with their drinks so they wouldn't blow away. On the street, an old-fashioned carriage drawn by horses passed by. 

“I always wanted to hitch a ride in one of them,” he said. He had this notion it was a romantic thing to do, maybe from watching too many movies.

“I heard it's cruel for the horses,” she remarked, picking up one of the beignets and taking a bite. “Oh, that's so good,” she said in a rush. James smiled at her, because she had powdered sugar all over her face and down the front of her shirt. He ate one of the pastries and looked down and found that he now matched her. He tried to brush the sugar from his shirt. 

“I like it here,” she said, looking around at the bustle of the street, which was mostly full of tourists. 

“We ain't seen none of it yet.” 

“It feels different,” she said. 

They finished eating and then walked down to the river. The edge was built up, so it wasn't possible to touch the water, just look out at it. There was an island or some kind of shoreline just visible on the other side. They watched the waves of dark gray water and the lights from the ships. “So that's the mighty Mississippi,” she said. 

“Just like in the books,” he agreed, the corners of his lips turning down instinctively when he thought about Huckleberry Finn. 

“Where are we going next?” she asked. 

“Bourbon Street, baby!” he cried. They needed to cross the street and walk back past the square and the hotel to get to the famous area. As they waited for the cars to clear, he looked at her, standing by his side. She looked up at him. On a wild impulse, he pressed his lips to hers. 

Her hand came up and clutched at the fabric of his shirt. He wrapped his arm around her back. She tasted sweet, like powdered sugar. She kissed him back, then guiltily they slid apart. She put her hand into his, and he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb as they walked. Something about her holding his hand made him feel like everything was right with the world.

There were people set up at card tables along the iron fence of the park. Juliet paused, looking curiously, and that was all it took for the woman at the nearest table to come alive. “I'll tell your fortune,” she offered. 

Juliet looked at James. He raised his eyebrows skeptically. 

“Don't you want to know your future?” the woman asked. She spoke with a slight accent. Her hair was long and tangled and she wore a flannel shirt over a tank top and gray jeans. She looked more like a homeless person than a fortune teller.

“I do,” Juliet said softly, to James. 

“I'll do both of yours. Same price,” the woman said. 

“You wanna get yourself conned, be my guest,” James said to Juliet, then turned to the woman. “What'll you do me for?” 

“Ten dollars.” 

“Total,” he said. “For both.” 

“It's agreed,” she said, and he handed her the bill. They sat down on the metal folding chairs facing her card table. Beyond them, somewhere, a saxophone trilled. 

“You are soulmates,” the fortune teller said. 

James looked at Juliet, kind of rolling his eyes. She looked intently at the woman's face. Juliet's eyes sparkled with interest in the dim light. 

“Cards or palm reading?” the woman asked. 

“Cards,” Juliet said. 

The woman nodded, as though she had known that would be the answer. She handed the oversized deck of cards to Juliet. “Think hard on your questions about the future. Shuffle, then pick three. Lay them face down.” 

Juliet did as she was instructed. 

The fortune teller turned over the first card. “The Empress.” She looked at Juliet. “This is you. She is a symbol of being womanly, of nature, and of being fertile. You will be a mother. But nature can be destructive, too.” 

The second card was turned over. “The Fool.” Her eyes flicked over at James. “This is him.” 

“Hey,” he said, and Juliet bit back a grin. 

“The Fool is on a journey of discovery. He is also in a precarious position – one false step could send him tumbling into a different, darker fate.” 

She reached for the third card and turned it over. “The Wheel. This could be a literal wheel, turning, to move you through space... and time.” The fortune teller frowned. James noticed she had a tattoo on her wrist, an eight-sided symbol with black lines and a circle in the center. It looked familiar somehow. “The center of the wheel is an island. It doesn't move. The wheel moves around it.” She looked at the two of them, then reached to pick up the cards and put them back into the deck. 

“What does it mean?” Juliet asked. The woman smiled mysteriously. 

“It means whatever you want it to mean,” James said. Because none of it was real. 

“Your hand,” the fortune teller said. “I will read your palm.” 

He stretched out his hand, which she took in hers. She rubbed her fingers over his palm, then cupped it within hers and examined it. “You have a double life line. The first line here is very short. You aren't supposed to be here.” She glanced at him. Her words turned his stomach a little. “But you are, and will have a long life.” She traced the line around to the base of his hand. 

“You have a long, straight head line. You like to think about things. Long, deep heart line. You will love, and be loved. There are some strange forks in this line. Choices, perhaps, or things not meant to be. Tied in to your double life line, perhaps.” She paused for a long moment, thinking. 

“Fate line. How much your life is controlled by outside elements. This line... is very long and very deep. Try to remember, the Fool is in charge of his own journey, no matter how many others act upon it.” She looked up at James. “Do you have questions?” 

He didn’t look at Juliet. “What about kids?” 

The fortune teller turned his hand so she could look at the side of it, underneath his pinky. She curled his fingers into his hand. She shook her head at what she saw there. “Two lines. One is faint, and forked. I have never seen a forked line here before,” she said, and looked at him. “The faintness means you have a child which is not your child. Adopted, perhaps. A child of the heart. The fork... the child could be one of two different children, perhaps? A choice to be made? Or in two different lives. You have two different lives in most of your hand.” She frowned and shook her head again. It seemed strange to him, that if she was making up a story for him, she seemed to be confused by how it was going.

“The other line is strong. This is a true child of your body and your heart.” She smiled at the two of them, then motioned for Juliet's hand. She looked at the side of it. “You have two strong lines. Two children. So one is his and one is not, but it will be like his own.” 

She let Juliet's hand go. The reading was over. 

“That was kind of spooky,” Juliet said, as they continued their walk. 

“She probably saw us kissing by the river. Or, hell, a couple walks up. Of course they're a couple.” 

“She knew I was pregnant, and it's not yours,” Juliet said, and looked at him for a long time with soft eyes. He knew she was thinking of the rest. The child that was his but not his. The child that was theirs. “And your double life... she knew. About what you told me.” 

“No,” he said strongly. 

“There's this idea that every important thing that happens, every decision, splits off an alternate universe. One world for each way it could have gone. It's not made up, it just sounds like it. It's a scientific theory I don't really understand. So there could be a universe where... you had a short life. And a universe where I didn't get into the car with you, where we never met at all.” 

“And one where you never met the asshole and got preggers,” James said, feeling out of sorts and ornery. “Hell, maybe there's a universe right now where you'n me are on a gorgeous tropical island. Just sittin' on the beach. Drinkin' some rum.” 

“Maybe we should go back to the hotel,” Juliet said. “It's been a long day.” 

“You can go if you want,” he said. “I'm going to Bourbon Street.” He looked at her and saw something painful, almost like fear, in her eyes. He wasn't sure why he felt so angry, like he was drunk with it already. The reading couldn't have frightened him because it didn't mean anything. It wasn't real. 

They walked up a few blocks until they reached the famous street. On the corner was a centuries-old, gray building with its door open. “Voodoo shop,” Juliet said. They went inside. The aisles were tightly packed with all manner of things. After a few minutes, he took Juliet's hand and tugged her back out onto the street. She looked back over her shoulder as though she hadn't seen enough. 

The street was loud, and crowded, and smelled like equal parts beer and piss. Jazz drifted from open doors and open windows. On a balcony on the second floor of one of the buildings, men and women leaned down, holding drinks and mardi gras beads and yelled, “Show us your tits!” On an impulse, James pulled his shirt up. He heard a wolf whistle, and then plastic beads hit him in the head. He grinned and put them around his neck. 

He raised an eyebrow at Juliet, daring her, but she looked back at him with blazing blue eyes. He had the impression she didn't approve, and he knew she didn't want to be there. He set his features, determined to have a good time. That they would both have a good time.

They went into Pat O'Brien's. James ordered a hurricane, and a virgin one for Juliet. No one asked for ID. The drinks came in tall glasses. “It's basically fruit punch,” Juliet said, sipping hers. James drank his through the straw, in long pulls until he was down to just the ice. The world blurred around the edges, and he realized that was exactly what he wanted it to do. All these thoughts and feelings could just go away. So he ordered a second and repeated the maneuver.

“You should eat something,” she suggested. 

“You do things your way an' I'll do 'em mine,” he said, wondering how he got stuck with someone so boring and not fun. Except that for some reason he loved her. He staggered a little when he got up. The drinks had been stronger than he'd thought. 

“Hotel?” she asked again. 

“Music,” he said, and they walked slowly down the street, pausing at doorways to listen. Finally they picked a place and went inside. They found a table in the back. James went to the bar and got a couple of bottles of beer and a glass of soda. When he got back, Juliet was smiling and relaxed, listening to the music. He'd found something she enjoyed and it made him smile, feeling proud of himself.

He handed her the soda and drank the first beer. He sighed when it was gone, not just because he felt her looking at him. “Liquor before beer, never fear,” he said, meeting her eyes. She shook her head and drank her soda. 

There was a break between sets. The place began to get more crowded. There were extra chairs at their table, and a couple of guys approached. They were both older. One was maybe forty, with reddish-brown hair that was starting to go and striking bright blue eyes. The other was even older, with white hair, but the same blue eyes. 

“Mind if we sit?” the younger man asked. 

“Go ahead,” James said. 

“The music any good?”

“It's amazing,” Juliet replied. The younger of the two men smiled widely at her, and there was a certain charm in it. The older man went to visit the bar. 

“What are you two up to?” the man asked. 

James picked at the label on his beer bottle and wished he and Juliet were still alone. He wasn't in the mood for conversation. 

Juliet was, though. “We're on a road trip,” she said. “Neither of us had been here, so we decided it would be a good stop.” 

“I love a road trip,” the man said. “That's what we're doing too. Where you headed?” 

“LA,” Juliet replied. 

The man's face crinkled when he grinned. “Us too. Little further south. Orange County.” 

“Are you...together?” James asked darkly, a frown painting his face. 

The man laughed. “No... no. That's my dad. Funniest thing, we only just met. Never knew him until now.” He looked at James and then at Juliet. “You're together, though. I can tell. How'd you meet?” 

“Juliet,” James said warningly. 

The man knew how to take a cue. “Juliet, nice to meet you. I'm John. John Locke.”

“Like the philosopher?” James asked. Juliet nudged him. 

The man grinned, though. “Yes, just like.” 

The guy's father returned. He had three bottles of beer and a soda. “Got a round for everyone,” he said, sliding a beer over to James, which won him some favor. “Somethin' sweet for the little lady.” He placed the soda in front of Juliet. He had a hint of a southern accent that his son didn't have.

“Thank you,” she said. 

The music started up again, ending the conversation, and James resisted the urge to thank God aloud. He didn't know what it was about these guys that rubbed him the wrong way. He drank he second beer and then nursed along the third, the one the philosopher's father had bought for him. The set finished. He'd enjoyed it, and Juliet applauded harder and louder than he did. 

“Never figured you for a jazz fan,” he said. His eyelids felt heavy. 

“I'm not, but that was amazing,” she said. “Let's go.” 

He nodded. She made a bit more small talk with the father and son and said their goodbyes for them. James pushed himself up and stumbled. She caught his elbow. “I need another drink,” he said. 

“Clearly, since you can still stand. Barely,” she said. She slung an arm around his waist and steered him back up the street. He looked longingly at a bar as they passed. They were fighting the crowd, heading upstream, so Juliet found a side street. It was suddenly dark and quiet and they were alone. 

“You're so pretty,” he said, because it was so much nicer than the things he had rattling around in his brain, the ones drinking hadn't quite extinguished. 

“James. We've been over this,” she said. 

“You're like the woman on the card. The angel.” He reached out to thread his fingers through her hair, fascinated by the way the pale curls caught the light. 

“The Empress.” 

“Her too,” he said. He aimed his lips at her neck, kissing her jaw sloppily. He whispered into her ear, “You ever want to do it in public? Ain't nobody around.” 

“Sure, cause every road trip needs a detour to jail,” she said. “We're almost there.” 

“Where?” he asked, and turned his head. What he saw made him jump. “Oh shit.” Unexpectedly, a giant shadow of Jesus Christ rose along the backside of a church. He blinked and the man himself swum before his eyes. He reached out and realized the shadow had been cast by a regular-sized statue. 

“You'll be punished for your sins tomorrow,” Juliet said, but she was laughing. Across the street was the hotel, and they rode up in the elevator. He put his hands on her waist and she brushed them away. He tried again because it felt like a game.

She opened the door to their hotel room, and James plopped down on the bed. “Whoa. Room's spinning.” 

“Yep,” Juliet said, practically. “Let me just get your boots off.” She leaned down by his feet, unlacing and then freeing him from first one heavy shoe and then the other. 

“Kiss,” he said, with his eyes closed. He felt her lips brush his forehead. He reached for her, but she darted away. “Need you,” he said. His hands felt so empty.

“You couldn't manage it right now even if I wanted you to,” she said. “You need to lie on your side, okay?” With her hands, she moved his body. “Like this.” 

He tucked his hands under his cheek and everything went blissfully black.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Juliet couldn't sleep for a few different reasons. 

First, she was worried that James would start vomiting and aspirate in his sleep, even though he was lying on his side in the recovery position. 

Second, she was pissed at him for getting outrageously intoxicated. 

Third, she was hungry and probably had insomnia. 

She wasn't sure which of these was the most irritating. 

She sat up in the bed beside him, with the light off, not even pretending she was going to be able to sleep. Trying to justify it in her mind, she tried to think about him. All the things she'd learned about him during that day, and what his life must have been like, and what he must feel like inside, all the time. How it amazed her that he was vital and strong and basically whole. But her thoughts just circled and she kind of wished she could have a drink. Or, she thought bitterly, she could get totally shitfaced to the point where she was afraid of statues and have him take care of her. 

She wondered if he even would. Not that either of them was going to get a chance to find out. 

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, lying beside her, suddenly awake. 

“Oh, hey, no,” she said, knowing what was coming next. She pulled him up and pushed him into the bathroom, reaching for the toilet lid just in time. She turned away while he puked. 

“Ugh.” He sank to his knees on the cool tile floor of the bathroom. His hair was sweaty and his eyes were red. He leaned over the bowl and threw up again. “Why,” he said when he was finished, leaning back against the wall. 

“Because you poisoned yourself with alcohol,” she said. She plucked a white washcloth from the towel bar and wet it in the sink, then sat down cross-legged beside him on the bathroom floor. She pushed his hair back with her hand, then wiped his face and lips with the cool, damp cloth. 

“You're good at this.” His eyes were closed. 

“My... ex certainly had his moments. He was an alcoholic in training.” It felt strange to call Jack her ex. 

“When'd they add drinking to the Olympics?” 

“It's new for '92,” she said. “I'm sure he'll have no trouble qualifying.” 

“I don't usually do this,” he said. James opened his eyes and looked at her. It was almost an apology.

“I know,” she said mildly. 

“You don't know nothin' about me.” Still looking at her sidelong, his eyes narrowed as he glared. 

It didn't bother her. She recited calmly all the things she had learned about him. “I know your name is James Ford, I know you're six foot one, I know your birthday is sometime between now and the end of the year. I know you're from Alabama, then moved to Tennessee. That you lived with your uncle. That he had a dog.” 

“Fine, you can write my biography.” 

For some reason, her sister popped into her head. Juliet's body jolted. “Shit, I forgot to call Rachel,” she said, and jumped up. If she didn't check in, her sister had threatened to report her as a missing person. She wasn't sure Rachel would do it, and she would do the same if Rachel ran off with some random guy, but neither of them needed this kind of trouble. 

“I'm fine,” James called to her sarcastically. 

“I'm sorry,” she said, when Rachel picked up, not sounding the least bit sleepy. “I'm so, so sorry. It got late and I forgot. I suck.” 

“You sleeping with him yet?” 

“Rachel,” she said, but didn't manage to sound shocked enough. She was surprised that her sister thought of her that way. 

“I hope he's better than Goddamn Jack.” Goddamn Jack was his name even before he ditched her at Waffle House, at least as far as Rachel was concerned. 

“Did he call?” 

“Honey. I'm sorry,” Rachel said. 

“It's okay,” Juliet said, in a wobbly voice. Jack didn't love her. He never loved her. She didn't even know why she cared, since they were finished, but it hurt. And now she had drunk numero dos tossing his cookies in the bathroom. “I don't need him. I don't need anyone.” 

“Julie, you've been saying that since you were ten years old, and it still isn't true. It's never going to be true.” 

“I'll make it true.” 

“Everyone needs someone.” 

“Can you wire me some money? Or something. We should be in Dallas tomorrow.” 

“Are you coming home?” 

“I'm going home to LA.” 

“The money will be in Dallas,” Rachel promised. “And you call me at a decent hour tomorrow.” 

“I promise. If Jack calls --” 

“He won't.” 

“ – tell him I hate him.” 

The sisters ended the call. Juliet bit her lip, then dialed another familiar number. How long did it take to get to LA if you didn't make any stops and drove straight through? She almost hung up, afraid Jack would pick up. But it was just his answering machine. “Hi Jack. It's me. I don't know why I'm leaving you another message, except... I've been thinking about you. You're probably drinking. I hope you're drinking. Except I don't, because it's terrible for you and you have to stop. I just wish you missed me. Or loved me at all. I still wish I could hate you. Bye.” 

She hated herself for calling, and even more for leaving such a stupid, un-thought-out message. She wished she could do it over. Not call. Or leave a perfectly crafted message. 

She looked up and James was standing in the doorway of the bathroom. His face was gray. “You done?” she asked. He nodded. “You flush?” she asked, because she didn't remember hearing it. 

She got up and he threw himself down on the bed. She made a disgusted noise and closed the toilet lid and pressed the handle. When it was done, she did it again for good measure, and threw the dirty washcloth and towels into the bathtub. She'd get him to leave an extra tip for the hotel maid. They were probably used to this kind of thing in New Orleans. 

In the bed, she pushed James onto his side again and then sat next to him, so he couldn't roll over onto his back. She had to get some sleep, because she was going to have to do the driving tomorrow. Once he was softly snuffling, Juliet stretched out beside him, crossing her arms over her stomach and willing herself to sleep. 

…

James did not want to be awake. He was determined to go back to sleep until his head didn't hurt anymore, which would most likely be when he was dead. But Juliet yanked open the motel room curtains, and threw back the covers and started tugging on his ankle to try to thwart all his attempts to burrow back into the covers and not move. 

“You can be hung over in the car,” she said. “We have to get to Dallas before the banks close.” 

It didn't make any sense to him so he replied, “The walrus walks at midnight.” That got him a worried look and she started pushing his eyelids up to look at his pupils, which was profoundly irritating. He shook her off. “Like a spy code phrase,” he tried to explain. 

She smacked him on the arm. “I thought you were having a stroke.” She dug through his backpack and found a black button-up shirt, which she tossed at him. He pulled off his t-shirt and let it fall. She picked it up immediately and shoved it into the bag. 

He wasn't sure how he felt about that, or the vague memories he had of her looking after him the night before. She'd washed his face and it had felt heavenly.

While he rolled up his shirt sleeves, she peeled some bills from his roll of cash and slipped them into the pocket of her jeans. “It's just what we need for today,” she said. “I'll pay you back tonight.” 

He made a gesture like he wasn't bothered. She picked up his backpack and slung it over her shoulder, her head turning as she looked around the room to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything. Then she gave him a little nudge into the hallway and closed the door behind them. 

“I'm starving,” she said, with her eyes so big and blue as she stopped outside the room with the continental breakfast. 

“I thought you were in a hurry,” he said, brushing his hair back out of his eyes with his hand. His stomach turned at the thought of food. 

“I've been starving since last night,” she said, so they went in. He held himself stiffly while he poured a cup of coffee, doing his best to avoid the rasher of scrambled eggs that smelled like death to him. He sipped the hot coffee, which was strong and bitter, while he sat across from Juliet, watching her eat her toast with extra marmalade. He hadn't quite figured her for the type, though he was grateful not to be confronted by any kind of cured breakfast meat. 

Juliet ate a lot of toast, and he drank a decent amount of coffee. Then they got into the car and headed northwest. He watched the speedometer, wondering where she had suddenly acquired such a lead foot. She hadn't been a speed demon for the past couple of days. He wondered with amazement that he had really only known her for a couple of days. Eventually he closed his eyes and rested his head against the window. The scenery flying past the window was getting to him, and he still wanted to sleep until he felt human again. 

The sensation of being still roused him sometime later and he lifted his head. They had stopped; the car was parked under the metal awning of a gas station. He turned his head and located Juliet, standing near the rear of the car. Her hair was blowing in the strong wind as she refilled the gas tank. 

James pushed open the car door. The wind was cold and smelled vaguely of ozone. “Storm's comin',” he said. 

If she heard him, she gave no sign. He didn't find what he'd said to be anything worth repeating, so he just stood and stretched until it felt like his bones would creak, and then he ambled into the little shop to use the facilities. He browsed around, killing time and because for some reason he was beginning to love these little convenience stores and the strange selection of things sold in them. This one had a crock pot behind the counter full of country gravy and a selection of what he thought were probably homemade biscuits. Food still turned his stomach, but he was enchanted by the idea of home cooking in a roadside gas station. 

The shop had a rack of paperbacks, and cassette tapes in a bin, along with tiny cans of tuna and ready-to-eat soup. He felt like it told a story, taken all together. Everything was here for truck drivers, or the desperate. He filled a giant cup with soda, grabbed a couple of overpriced individual packets of Tylenol, and then selected a large chocolate bar at the counter. 

He passed Juliet in the doorway, with her heading in as he was walking back outside. She smiled at him and he stopped in his tracks for a second, forgetting what he was doing. He smiled back at her, feeling like an idiot. Then he continued on his way, glancing back over his shoulder at her. 

Approaching the car, he looked at the total for the gas displayed on the pump. Another ten bucks gone. He'd saved up for a long time, but he wasn't sure now if it was enough to start over in a city like LA. He'd land on his feet. He always did. 

Sitting down in the passenger seat, he cranked down the window so he could feel the cold wind on his face. He loved it, and the way the humidity was gone and he felt like he could taste the air. Ripping open the medicine packets, he downed the contents with a swig of soda and then slotted the cup into the cupholder. He breathed deeply until Juliet returned. 

When she got in on the driver's side, he tossed the chocolate bar onto her lap. “Gotcha something.” 

“Thanks,” she said, holding it up. 

“Thank you,” he said, and they weren't words he was used to saying. “For lookin' after me last night.” He watched her frown and put her teeth into her lip, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. Done the wrong thing. Again. “What? You allergic to chocolate?” 

She shook her head. “No.” 

“Hey,” he said gently, and put his hand on hers. He looked at her face, wanting to understand. 

She just kept shaking her head, and when she moved her hand to the gearshift, he let the matter drop. He kept looking at her, thinking that at some point it would click and make sense, but it didn't. Suddenly uninterested in sleeping, he watched her drive. 

The sky above them opened up with rain. First it was a few big, fat plops onto the windshield. But the sky kept turning blacker. The world outside the windows blurred with the torrential downpour. Lightning split the sky with bright white light, and they both jumped at the roar of thunder. 

“I love storms,” Juliet declared. “I just wish I could see where we're going.” 

“Pull off and wait it out,” he suggested. 

“Storm's going the same direction we are. We'll have to drive through it eventually,” she said. He looked at the roiling clouds and saw that she was right. She pressed the accelerator a little harder. 

There was a thump, and the car started to veer into the oncoming lane. James felt a wave of hot panic flood through his body. Juliet's knuckles went white on the steering wheel as she fought to hold the car steady, then gradually braked to a stop on the side of the road. She looked at him. “Please tell me you've got a spare.” 

“I got a spare,” he said. Steeling himself, he pushed open the door and got out into the storm. Instantly he was soaked, and he had to squint against the cold rain that the wind was pushing into his eyes. On the other side of the car, Juliet got out to join him. “Get back in!” he shouted, waving his arm at her, but she met him at the trunk and unlocked it, since she had the key. 

“Go sit in the car,” he ordered, but she reached in to the trunk to pull back the felt that covered the well for the spare tire. He ground his teeth and went to look at the damage. 

The rear tire was shredded. He didn't know enough to be able to tell if it was a blowout or if she'd hit something. He figured it didn't matter, just like it didn't matter if she went and got back into the car now, because it was too late and she was already wet to the skin just like he was. He went back to the trunk and pulled out the tools he'd need. “I got this,” he told her. Then he put his hand on her arm and roughly pushed her away from the white line that divided the shoulder from the road, shoving her toward the trees, where it was safer. 

He propped up the car and started working on the tire. Everything was made three times harder because of the water. His fingers kept slipping. He finally got the bolts off, laying them to rest in the hubcap so he wouldn't lose them. The spare went on, and he gathered up the tools to put them away. At least it was a full sized spare, and not one of those stupid little donut wheels that had to be replaced in 30 miles. Barring any other problems, they'd be able to make it to LA on the spare and not have to stop and buy another tire. 

He turned and saw her. She wandered idly near the place where the pavement gave way to nature. Water dripped down her face, which she had turned up toward the sky, like a flower trying to catch the rain. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, and her wet clothes clinging to her were somehow even more sexy than being naked. He groaned with wanting her, in spite of himself. 

The trunk slammed. She turned her head, and he couldn't resist her anymore. He rapidly closed the distance between them. One hand went around her waist and the other rested on her cheek and he kissed her, hard and deep and full of longing. She made a soft sound of surprise that he felt all the way down between his legs. She kissed him back just as desperately, with the rain still pelting them.

He wanted her to wrap her legs around his hips and then he'd carry her over to the car. He'd sit her up on the lid of the trunk and then let her slide down onto him, right there in the rain. The fantasy was powerful, and he growled deep in the back of his throat. But he felt her shivering against him, not from arousal but because she was freezing. 

He threw open the back door of the car and brushed the remaining junk food off the bench seat. There was a rough-textured blanket back there and he spread it out as best he could. She climbed in, and he got in after her, closing the door behind them. The rain beat down on the roof of the car and the windows. It was a small, awkward space, but it was dry. 

Afterward, she sighed contentedly as he lay against her. Her fingers idled through his wet hair. “You're so warm,” she said softly, and the plastic seat creaked beneath them as he wrapped her up in his arms. Her skin was cold and damp from the weather. He put his mouth against her throat and tasted the rain on her. 

“You could have stayed in the car.” 

“I like storms,” she said. “And you don't have to take care of me.” 

“Don't get feisty on me now,” he murmured into her ear, before beginning to explore the ridges of it with his tongue. He raked his teeth gently against her earlobe. 

“You know you love it.” Her breath caught when she realized what she'd said, that she'd used that word, even casually. 

“Hey,” he said, and pushed her wet hair back from her forehead, looking into her eyes. “You know better than to fall for me.” 

“Yeah,” she said, but she looked away. 

“Climb into the front seat from here,” he ordered, not wanting her to get wet and cold again now that he'd gotten her warmed up and cozy. He got out to get back into the passenger seat on the outside of the car. The rain was letting up. 

When he closed the door, she sat in the driver's seat like nothing had ever happened. He watched her face, amazed by her calm when he still felt kind of shaken and excited all at the same time. He couldn't stop looking at her. He couldn't get enough. She turned up the heat, and the radio, and floored it. 

… 

“We're not going to make it to Dallas in time,” she said. An hour later, the sun shone so brightly it was though it had never rained. As though rain wasn't something that existed on planet earth. She wanted to stop and go lie in the sun and absorb its warmth, the way she'd soaked in the rain during the storm. 

“So we don't make it in time. Big deal,” he said. “Tomorrow we can sleep in, and then go before we hit the road again. I got us covered.” He stroked her arm with the back of his hand, just the barest touch, meant to be reassuring. When she looked at him, his eyes were dark and full of her. 

She couldn't tell him that she wanted a few dollars in her pocket as security. That she wanted to repay him, to make things equal between them again. So she could stop worrying that he'd suddenly see her as a liability and kick her out. So they could be together, really be together, without worrying about money. 

She wanted him, and she knew he desired her for her, for who she was. They liked each other. They were maybe starting to care about each other. But being dependent on him just made things complicated, in her head, and she wanted them to be clear. 

“What are you going to do when we get there?” she asked. “LA, not Dallas.” 

“Don't know yet,” he said. “What about you?” 

“I've got an apartment with some other girls,” she said. “With Jack starting med school, I didn't want to move in with him and be a distraction.” She wondered if she brought him up too often. 

“Lucky thing,” he said, and Juliet wondered what James thought about her breakup. 

“I'll have to find another place, though. By spring. A crying baby isn't really what the other girls signed up for.” 

“You ain't going back to him,” he said, and it sounded more like an order than a question. 

“I don't think so,” she said softly. “I've got scholarships and loans, but I'm not sure what happens to them if I... have to take the quarter off.” She didn't want to think about it. She was still stuck on the shock of being pregnant, and her plans being derailed, and then the shock of Jack's reaction, further derailing any plans she'd put together in her head. A part of her wondered why she should make plans, what the point of that was, because things would just change again. “I'll figure something out.” 

“You got parents?” he asked. 

She sighed, and took one hand off the wheel to rub her eyes. 

“You wanna talk about it?” 

“My dad filed bankruptcy in June. He's been losing his business for... a while. He tried to blame it on his business partner, but I think he just made some bad choices and can't face that.” She sighed, because there was more, and she hated to think about it, and hated to burden him with it. “He abandoned us for awhile, after my parents got divorced. I didn't see him for, like... four years. We're not close.” 

“And your mama?” He was watching her intently. 

“She died earlier this year. Cancer.” Her voice was perfectly calm. She wasn't going to cry. She'd learned how to put it all away, somewhere inside where it couldn't affect her. 

“I'm sorry. Cancer's a bitch,” he said, in a voice that made her look at him. He tilted his head, like a nod but not quite. So he'd been through it too. 

“She's been dying for three years.” 

“My uncle went quick.” 

She glanced at him again. 

“Ah, hell, it's just life, ain't it,” he said, and turned up the radio, ending the conversation. She wasn't sure she wanted to end it there, but she didn't want to talk about it more, either. 

After awhile, the radio station faded to static, so they turned it off and played the alphabet game. But then the game stalled out for almost half an hour until James pointed and yelled, “Quik Shop Truck Stop! I win!” 

“You win when you get to Z.” 

“You win when you declare it's pointless and give up, which makes me the winner,” he said. “It took us this long to get to Q, it only gets worse from here.” 

“Quik Shop Truck Stop also has R, S, T and U,” she pointed out. 

“That don't make you the winner,” he pouted. “We stoppin' for some grub?” 

“Yeah, and I have to pee again.” 

“Yeah, me too,” he admitted, as she navigated between the 18 wheelers to the car section of the truck stop parking lot. The building itself was large, offering fast food in addition to a store with all the amenities. 

“I've always wanted to take a truck stop shower,” Juliet said, as they followed the signs to the bathrooms. “It just makes me so curious.” 

“Safer waitin' on the motel tonight,” he said. 

“Women drive trucks, too, James,” she said, and went into the restroom. She washed up in there at the sink, and he was waiting for her in the hallway when she came out. His hairline was wet so she knew he had washed his face, and there was a damp spot on his jeans where he had wiped away a stain. He checked the coin return slots of the pay phones as they passed, and smiled at her when he caught her noticing. 

She paused at a rack full of cassette tapes. “You don't have a tape deck,” she said, wondering why she hadn't thought of it before. 

“I got one. It's busted.” 

“Too bad,” she said, running her fingertips across the titles, which were all outdated. He left her side to spin a rack full of paperbacks. She wandered over to him. He was smirking over a copy of Catcher in the Rye. “What?” she asked. 

“Can you imagine a trucker who's into Catcher in the Rye?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “They're people.” 

“Moronic teenage angst,” he said, and slotted the book back. 

“You mean you're not one of those guys who worships at the feet of the almighty Salinger?” she asked, and he frowned at her. She reached up her fingertip and dotted the spot between his eyebrows, smoothing away the crease. “You're too young to get wrinkles.” 

His hand closed over her wrist, and he looked down at it. She looked down, too, trying to see what he saw. Her pale skin against his tan. His thumb stroked over the arteries, and when she looked at his face, his mouth was open. It made her heart ache. 

“Let's eat,” she said softly. 

“You got it, Curls,” he said, back to his usual self. 

She stood in line for a sandwich with extra veggies while he ordered some chicken. She looked over her shoulder at him standing in line and found he was looking at her. She smiled a little and looked at him a little curiously. He widened his eyes and then looked away. 

They met at one of the booths, which was hard plastic. Juliet kept sliding against the seat, and it was cold against her back in the aggressive Texas air conditioning. “These are the best fries.” 

“You want fries, woman, go order your own,” he said, playfully smacking her hand as she reached onto his tray for a few more. 

“What do you want to do for dinner?” she asked. 

“We're eating lunch, darlin',” he said, patient and amused. 

She gave him a little half-smile, and looked away. She kept seeing what she thought looked like love in his eyes. It couldn't be. But did she want it to be? She glanced back at him. His eyes were bright green today, and there were faint smudges of purple shadows under them. She liked the way his upper lip curved, exposing his teeth. The way his mouth moved when he talked, as though that was what caused his accent. 

She thought about kissing him, and his mouth on her skin. She looked at his eyes again, and couldn't help wondering what color her baby's eyes would be. Jack's eyes were brown, with just a hint of green when he was upset or jealous. So he had a recessive in there somewhere. She remembered his father's icy blue eyes. Maybe it'd be enough to get her a blue-eyed baby. Or green. 

Why did she suddenly want a green-eyed baby? She put her sandwich down, suddenly feeling confused and miserable. It would be so wrong to fall in love with James. It was too soon, and her life was in a mess. But it was probably too late to stop herself. 

“You okay?” he asked, noticing her thoughts had gone astray. 

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Maybe just... my eyes are bigger than my stomach.” He frowned, like he was concerned, and she forced a little smile at him. She felt like the damn parasite in her womb defined her right now, like that was the only reason he was concerned about her. She wanted to talk about, or think about, anything else. 

“Your hangover seems better,” she said, and he ignored her. “Do you always drink like that?” 

“Through a straw?” Sarcasm always let her know she'd found the nerve. 

“Last night.” 

“It was New Orleans. People drink.” 

“I know people drink,” she said, irritated, which was what she had wanted. “I drink, sometimes. Do you even remember last night?” 

“Yeah,” he said. He moved his head like he was annoyed.

“So why did you do it?” 

“I ain't got a logical reason in my head for every damn thing I do,” he said. “Sometimes I just do things.” 

“Things like knocking back two big, strong drinks in ten minutes.” 

“Fine,” he said, and he was agreeing to fight with her. “Why'd you fuck me, Juliet?” His eyes were wide and wild. 

It felt like he punched her, and she started to shake. She wasn't even sure why. It wasn't fear so much as a flood of overwhelming, unnameable emotion. “Because I wanted to.” 

“There ya go then. Me too. You done?” He got up and started loading their trash onto the trays without waiting for her to answer. He went to the trash can and dumped it in and clattered the tray on top. He looked back at her. “You comin' or you want to stay here?” 

She got up, furious and terrified, and started walking toward the car. He followed a half-step behind her. “Keys,” he ordered, when they arrived at the car, and she tossed them to him. 

They didn't play the alphabet game after that. 

… 

Every time she looked at the clock, he clenched his jaw a little harder. It was after four and they still had a hundred and twenty miles to go. They weren't going to make it to the damn bank and they both knew it, so why did she keep looking. 

Because it meant a delay, and that meant spending more time with him. Even before their stupid petty argument, which was her fault because she'd picked the fight with him on purpose and he knew it, she'd been in this rush. He wondered if she was planning to dump him in Dallas and catch a plane or a bus. 

He wondered why he didn't want her to. 

It was more than the princess hair, which was even more glorious after the rainstorm. It was the way she closed her eyes when she smiled when she was perfectly happy, and the way sometimes she smiled and it didn't quite reach her eyes. It was all the thoughts in her damnable smart brain and the way he knew she was thinking all the time, watching and analyzing and planning. It was the way she did things she hadn't planned to. Like coming with him, standing around in the rain, sleeping with him. 

He looked over at her in the passenger seat, slouched down and staring out the window, idly picking a weakened spot in her jeans where they were starting to wear through. 

“Tell me somethin',” he said. He didn't want to be fighting with her anymore. 

“What?” she asked, and shifted, as though he'd awoken her, though she'd been awake, just lost in thought. 

“Tell me somethin'. Anything.” 

“Blue eyes are recessive, and green eyes are a mutation.” 

“What?” 

“Green eyes also don't actually have any green coloring in them. There's stuff in the iris that's more like yellow, so when they reflect the blue wavelength in light, it combines and looks green.” 

“You just got this stuff in your head? What else you got in there?” 

“You're a mutant, James,” she said, with playful deadpan seriousness. 

“I meant tell me something about you. Your favorite birthday.” 

“That's more interesting than genetics?” 

“What ain't more interesting than genetics?” 

She sighed. “When I was three, I got a Fisher Price doctor kit for my birthday and I thought it was the best thing ever. My dad let me climb all over him, looking in his ears and his eyes and his mouth. When I was eight, my sister had a skating party at the roller rink and my mother made her let me come. I tripped and my knee caught a nail that was sticking up out of the smooth wax of the boards and it ripped off this long, narrow piece of skin. It bled like crazy, and all her friends made fun of me, so I just sat down on the bench and watched the blood come out and it was fascinating.” 

“You ever think you might be a little weird?” He didn't mean it in a bad way. It was one of the things he liked best about her. 

“Oh, and it tasted good. The blood. I wonder if I can still kiss my own knee.” She pulled one up into the seat and bent down, straining. “Just barely.” 

“You got any stories that don't involve blood and guts?” 

“When's your birthday, James?” she asked. 

“November. You doin' my horoscope?” 

“I'm an Aquarius,” she said. 

“You believe in that shit?” 

“No, but I read Cosmo.” She looked out the window. “Who's the first girl you ever kissed?” 

He smiled and chuckled, thinking about it. “In kindergarten --” 

“Real kiss,” she insisted. 

“How'd you know it weren't real?” 

“Even you weren't frenching girls in kindergarten.” 

“It gotta have tongue to be a real kiss?” he asked. “Boy howdy, you are missin' out.” 

“Your accent gets thicker when you're trying to change the subject.” 

“Don't got an accent,” he said. “You got an accent.” He snuck another glance at her. “I don't hear you offerin' up anything.” 

“My first kiss was in a closet during my sister's first boy-girl party. She was thirteen and I was eleven. He was fourteen and I was a little afraid it might be illegal.” 

“He feel you up?” He was trying to imagine the scene. Trying to imagine what not-quite little girl Juliet would have been like. What he would have done at eleven if he'd met her, at a party, playin' some game in the dark. 

“No, but there was tongue and it was nothing like the sexy kisses on TV. I thought it was kind of gross. It turned out that he was the boy she had a crush on, the whole reason she'd engineered the party and the game, and she was furious that I got my first kiss before she got hers.” 

“Cause you told her all about it. Bein' the little sister and all.” 

“Yeah. I didn't know. I didn't go to another party until college. Last year. I figured the other side of the country was probably safe enough.” 

“So you've kissed three boys total? The party creep, the asshole and... me?” 

“I kissed boys in high school,” she said. “I just didn't go to parties.” She looked at him again. “And you can stop hinting around and just ask me.” 

“Ask you what?” 

“How many guys I've slept with. How I lost my virginity. Who's better.” 

He looked at her and she had her stubborn look, which he already knew was dangerous. “It's the 80s, sweetheart. You can sleep with all the guys you want.” 

“I don't need your permission.” 

He sighed. “My number ain't that much higher than yours,” he said, because he knew that was what she was upset about. Why she'd turned on him again. But he didn't know if it was because he was more experienced, or if she was self-conscious, or what. Girls were weird like that, and it wasn't their fault. He remembered her calling herself a slut – that wasn't something guys had to worry about. “I was fourteen the first time. She was older.” 

“Older?” 

“Sixteen, not Mrs. Robinson,” he clarified. 

“Fourteen seems young.” She sounded kind of sad. He liked it, and hated the idea of her pitying him.

“It was,” he admitted. “I waited a while after that. Dated some. Course you always get some at prom. Then this last year... ain't been nobody. It's hard meeting people when you're out of school.” He felt raw telling her this. Exposed. He'd been lonely a long time, before he met her. He shifted the subject. “You go to prom?” 

“Yes, but no hotel room after. I had to be home by eleven.” 

“Harsh.” 

“Dads worry,” she said, and then sighed and shifted in the passenger seat. “For good reason, I guess.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “My sister sleeps around.” 

“Is that right,” he said. 

“I don't judge her for it,” Juliet said, and he believed her. “She's got that – it, that spark. It draws people in.” 

“You think you ain't got that?” 

“I'm too serious,” she said. 

“You're beautiful.” 

“You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it means,” she said. He looked at her. She shrugged. “It's a movie quote.” 

“I know,” he said. 

“You wanna talk about sex some more?” she offered.

“No, I think I'm done.” There was still so much he wanted to know about her. 

“I Spy?” she asked. 

He sighed. “You got it.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five 

The dashboard clock read six-fifteen when they finally made it to Dallas. James drove to the bank anyway. Juliet appreciated that she didn't have to ask him to, even though she knew he was irritated by the rush she had been in all afternoon to try to get there. It was always possible the bank would have some kind of extended hours or something, she thought. But no, of course it didn't. It had been closed for more than two hours. 

Another day without a penny. He'd been so generous and so gracious, but she felt her heart sink. She closed her eyes for a moment to try to contain her disappointment. 

“Opens at nine,” he read. 

“Can we please go to a store.” The words burst out of her in a rush, and she hated the pleading in her voice. “Target, or K-mart, or I don't care where, just some place where I can get something clean to wear. And I promise, I will pay you back tomorrow.” It was hard for her to look at him. 

“Sure,” James said, like he didn't understand. 

Juliet nodded, but she didn't think she could explain it to him. How it felt to spend three days with only the clothes she'd had on her back plus the blue henley shirt she'd borrowed from him. She wanted out of these horrible jeans; she wanted clean underwear; and she wanted a hairbrush. 

Spotting the familiar red sign, he pulled into the parking lot of a Target. The lot was almost full of cars, and families and kids streamed toward the entrance. “I'll only be a minute,” she said, and started to get out of the car. 

He lay a hand on her wrist. “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes searching her face. 

“I will be,” she promised. She still felt desperate and wild, and her heart raced in her chest with something that felt like fear. Her arm slid out from under his hand and she got out of the car. 

James got out of the car and stretched, then fell into step beside her, both of them walking quickly across the parking lot. “You don't gotta be alone,” he offered. 

She cut to what she thought was the heart of the matter. “You have to pee,” she said. 

“That too,” he admitted, and that's when it hit her, again. He couldn't wait for her in the car. He had the cash. She still had nothing. Her pulse hammered a little harder in her ears. 

They parted ways at the bathrooms. She lingered, washing her hands and wiping her face with damp paper towels. She looked pale and wide-eyed in the mirror and forced herself to take deep breaths until she started to feel more normal again. When she emerged, James was waiting for her, the way he always did, and she noticed that his eyes lit up when he saw her. It made her smile, a tiny little smile at him. 

He reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers and squeezing. She looked at him and squeezed back. The panic she'd been feeling since they arrived in Dallas and at the closed bank was starting to fade. She grabbed a red plastic basket and led him into the clothing section. 

She flicked through the sale racks until she found a dress that she liked in her size. She tossed it into the basket. Then she tugged James over to the lingerie department, where she grabbed a couple pairs of panties. Aware James was watching her, she avoided looking at him. She wasn't sure she could handle seeing what she thought would be in his eyes. 

“Motel's always got a pool,” he said, surprising her. 

“Hmm?” She looked at him then. 

“We could go swimmin',” he suggested. They walked back into the women's section, where he led her over to the bathing suit displays. “Get this one.” He plucked a turquoise and hot pink one-piece from the racks.

It was cute, and just her color, but she frowned over it. “It's not on sale.” 

“I got it covered,” he said easily. He put the bathing suit into the basket with her other items. She decided to let him. 

Next they went over to the men's department. It took James all of ten seconds to grab a pair of board shorts and toss them into the basket as well. It was tempting for her to argue about color, or style, but he either knew what he wanted or didn't care, and she didn't know which. He stopped and looked at her in the middle of the wide aisle. “What else do we need?” 

“A brush,” she said. They found the personal care section. A wide-toothed comb, a brush, a pack of hair elastics, and a bottle of sunscreen went into the basket. James had a bottle of conditioner in his bag that she'd been using, and she liked it because it smelled like him. “I think that's it.” 

He nodded, waiting a moment for her to think of something else. She shook her head, racking her brain, but nothing else came to her. So they went over to the checkouts and stood in line. Between the candy and the chapsticks, there was a display of disposable cameras. On impulse, Juliet picked one up and tossed it onto the belt. She'd pay him back. Her teeth worried at her lip, because she wanted to say it, but she didn't want to say it again, not too often. He knew. And he didn't seem to care. 

There was a Motel 6 just off the highway, along a strip of motels and fast food chains. James went in and rented the room, as usual. She stood by the car, waiting for him. The day was cooling down and she watched the way the water in the motel pool rippled in the sunlight. James came out of the motel office, shoving the room key into the pocket of his jeans. “Dinner?” 

“I thought you'd never ask,” she said. 

There was a Taco Bell next door to the motel, so they walked over. The tacos were forty-nine cents. James looked at Juliet like he was assessing her, then ordered ten. It made her smile. He handed her the warm, heavy bag to carry back over to the motel. 

In the dim room, she tossed the bag down in the middle of the ugly bedspread on the big bed. James turned on the TV and found some old show with a laugh track. He sat down beside her, and they ate in companionable silence. Juliet liked it. She felt comfortable, and safe. And very full, even as she reached for another taco from the bag. 

Her hand met James's. There was only one taco left. “You go ahead,” he said, withdrawing and getting up from the bed. 

Juliet's eyes lingered on him. She considered protesting that he'd eaten more tacos than she had, but decided to let it be. It didn't matter. That he'd been chivalrous made her lips turn up at the corners. 

“You wanna go swim?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” she agreed. The last taco split as she crunched into it, and she licked away the weird orange grease that rolled down the side of her hand. She watched as James got undressed. He pulled off his t-shirt and let it drop the floor. His boots were over by the door, having come off when they walked into the room, leaving him barefoot. Now he unbuckled his belt and pushed his jeans and boxers down so they fell on the floor too, and he stepped out of them. Juliet watched the lean muscles of his back and admired the pale skin of his bare ass as he ripped the tags off the swim shorts and pulled them up. 

She crumpled the taco wrapper and then gathered the rest of the trash, rising to shove it into the tiny trash can. “I'll catch up,” she said, and he looked at her. She wondered if he'd wanted to watch her change, but if he did, they would never make it to the pool. She thought back to the rain and the car – had it only been that morning? “I saw a sign for laundry. Want me to throw your stuff in?” 

“Could use a wash,” he agreed. “Thanks.” 

She nodded. It was the least she could do. James opened the door to the motel room, letting in an angle of late afternoon sunlight that made his hair glow with gold. A moment later, the door closed firmly behind him. 

Juliet put on the swimsuit he'd chosen for her, then gathered up her two shirts (she'd decided his blue henley was hers now), her underwear, and her jeans. She pulled the tags off the new panties so she could wash them before wearing them. Then she went through James's bag for his dirty shorts and t-shirts, marveling that she felt so comfortable with him that she didn't feel weird or guilty for going through his stuff. She picked up his shirt from the floor, turning it right-side out. She separated his shorts from his jeans and pulled his belt from its loops. Slipping one hand into the pockets, she withdrew the car keys, his wallet, some cash, and a piece of paper. 

Juliet put the other items on the bed and held on to the paper. It was soft and worn, and when she turned it over, she found it was an envelope with a seal on it from Knoxville, Tennessee, in 1976. The envelope wasn't addressed and didn't have any stamps on it. She knew she shouldn't, but she opened it and withdrew the single sheet of notebook paper inside, unfolding it. 

It was a letter, written in childish scrawl. “Dear Mr. Sawyer,” it said, and she read the rest of the few lines quickly. She held her breath and glanced at the door. Then she read it again, letting the words sink in. It fluttered slightly in her hand, which was trembling. She refolded the letter and put it carefully back into the envelope, then set it underneath his wallet. 

After that, she couldn't leave the motel room fast enough. She loaded their clothes into the dented Speed Queen in the vestibule behind the motel office. James had told her half the story – more than half – that his father had killed his mother, then shot himself. He just hadn't told her why. 

Loading in the powdered soap she'd purchased from the vending machine, she thought about the odd conversation he'd had with the librarian in Alabama yesterday, and the name he'd gotten from her. Juliet thought about his drinking binge last night. In her bones, she knew that he was going to try to find this guy, and when he found him, he was going to kill him. 

She didn't know what to think about that. It tore her up inside, thinking about him and how he must feel. It also frightened her a little, even though she knew the odds were he'd never be able to find the man. But he had gone to Alabama for a reason. It wasn't just to go to the cemetery. This wasn't an idea he'd had once and then discarded. This was something he'd lived with for a long time. 

“Startin' to wonder if you got lost.” 

The sound of James's voice caused her to startle. Her body jolted and she sucked in an audible breath. He leaned against the doorway of the small laundry room and gave her a curious frown at her reaction. 

She shook her head. “Lost in my own thoughts,” she said, and her voice still sounded strained, even to her own ears. “I'm on my way.” 

His eyes roamed appreciatively over her body. “You make that suit look good.” 

She gave him the curve of a half-smile and stared at his tan chest, feeling herself relax. It was so easy to be with him. “You're not so bad yourself.” 

“You need help puttin' on some sunscreen?” he asked, following her as she walked past him and let herself in through the pool gate. There weren't many cars in the parking lot, so maybe it wasn't a surprise they had the pool to themselves. 

“Sun's going down,” she pointed out, looking at the bands of color in the sky as darkness began to settle in. They didn't need sunscreen, not now. 

“Maybe I just wanna touch you.” He turned to face her, his eyes intense. His eyebrows lifted as he gave her another appreciative look, his hands settling on her shoulders and then stroking down her arms. 

“You don't need an excuse.” She leaned in to him, turning her face up for a kiss, which he gave her. He made a satisfied purr in the back of his throat and she felt it resonate in her chest. They kissed again, lightly and briefly, then she pulled away to sit on the edge of the pool.

She slipped her feet into the water. She kicked them, enjoying the feel of the coolness of the water in contrast to the warm air. He sat down beside her but just for a second, sliding into the pool, then dipping his head under and coming back up with his hair wet and water dripping from his face as he turned back to face her. He licked his lips. 

“So we're doin' this,” he said. 

“What, swimming? Looks that way.” 

“No, this.” He ran his hand up her thigh. “Us. Havin' a... thing.” 

She wanted to lie back and have his hand continue its path upward. But her stomach had turned to jello. “Is this a relationship?” she asked, more breathlessly than she liked. 

“It's somethin',” he said. “Kissin'. And other stuff.” His thumb kneaded her inner thigh, inches from the edge of her suit. His skin was always so hot against hers. She watched him, feeling the quickness of her breath. His eyes were dark and full of her again, like she was the only thing in the world that he could see. 

Juliet knew she should just go with it. She wanted to. Let it happen and enjoy it. Not worry about his eyes, or his heart, or her heart or Jack or her baby. 

“What?” he asked, because she was tensing under his touch instead of melting. 

She shook her head and looked at the sky. She didn't even know what to say. She did want him, she always wanted him, but there were too many other thoughts in her head that she couldn't let go of. 

James sighed and stepped backward, away from her. Juliet slid into the pool and looked at him. He was still watching her, his eyes hooded now, his expression dark and guarded, but she could still see it there. The love in his eyes. 

She pushed off the wall and started swimming. At the other end of the pool, she bobbed a few times and then submerged, letting the water carry it all away. It stung her eyes as she looked up at the warped sky overhead, listening to the odd quiet you could only hear underwater. She swam back, and the pool wasn't big enough for it to be any effort. When she surfaced again, James floated on his back in the center of the pool. For a second, she thought his eyes were closed, but then she saw he was staring up into the sky. 

She walked through the water, over to him. He kept floating, not looking at her. She watched the muscles of his stomach work, the way his breath expanded and contracted. “I'm sorry,” she said, because she'd hurt him, and it had been too easy. She wanted to touch him now, to make that connection between them, but she didn't know where or how. 

“Why do you want the money so bad,” he said, and his voice was raw. 

“Pardon?” She blinked. This wasn't what she'd expected. 

“The money. At the bank. Your sister's sendin' you. Why do you want it so bad?” He rolled out of the float and stood facing her. “You gonna take off?” 

“No!” It hadn't even occurred to her that he would think that. “I just wanted to be able to get some clothes. And pay for things. Just in case.” 

“In case what?” The line between his eyebrows was back, deep and angry. “I don't want nothin' in return. I thought you liked me.” 

“He drove off and left me!” she yelled, so shrill they both startled as it reverberated off the water. Her emotions and her panic boiled over, leaving her feeling out of control again. “You have no idea what it's like. He said he loved me and in the next breath he left me. How can I trust anyone?” 

“I got some idea what it's like,” he growled. He gave her a long look, eyebrows still drawn together, and then he pulled her into his arms. 

He put his hand on the back of her head and pulled it down into his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his waist, getting closer to him, clinging to him. He stroked back a strand of her hair. She didn't cry, and she wasn't going to. She just let him hold her, and she held him back, and they both felt what it was like to be held and comforted. 

He turned his head and put his lips on her ear. Somehow she couldn't stand it, so she pulled away, mumbling that she had to put the clothes in the dryer. She hauled herself out of the pool, her feet slapping against the concrete as she hurried back to the laundry room. She felt cold in there, pulling wet clothes out and putting them into the dryer. She wanted him too much, that was the problem, she thought, and she thought too much. She squeezed her eyes closed, hating that she felt like a pinball bouncing every which crazy way. Then she went back to the pool. 

At first she didn't see him and her heart stuttered in her chest. How long would it be until her first thought wasn't always abandonment? His voice came from one of the loungers on the other side of the pool. “I learned to swim in a dirty old lake,” he said. “It had one of those rope swings where you could go runnin' and then drop right into the water. It was damn near perfect.” 

She wondered why he was telling her this. 

Sitting down by the edge of the pool again, she put her feet into the water. She wanted to go to him, but she couldn't. She might pull away again, and that might make him angry, and ever since Jack, she was afraid. And she might hurt James if she pulled away again, and she couldn't bear it. “I learned in the ocean,” she said, and then shrugged. “Well, that and gym class.” 

“You learn the butterfly and all them fancy strokes?” he asked. 

“I guess. I kind of sucked at gym class.” 

“You're doin' okay now,” he said. There was a long pause. “You like me at all, Juliet?” 

“You never struck me as insecure, James.” 

“I like you a hell of a lot.” The confession hangs in the air between them. 

“That's good,” she said, summoning all her bravery. “Cause I feel the same way about you.” 

“You wanna come over here 'n do something about it?” he invited in that same low, lazy drawl. 

“You know otters hold hands when they float, so they won't get separated?” she said, because she had to say something and she didn't know what else to say. Not moving. 

“We can play otters, if you want,” he said. He got up, propelling his body from the lounge chair, his skin vivid in contrast to the rapidly darkening night. He went into the pool with a little jump, feet first, and walked through the water over to where she was sitting. 

A wave of water generated by his hand washed over her.

She laughed and put her fingers in the pool and splashed him back. He splashed her harder and she squealed, suddenly happy and carefree. She kicked her foot, sending an arc of water in his direction, which he neatly avoided by stepping to one side. 

It was too hard to get proper splashing leverage when she was sitting on the cement edge of the pool, so she slid in, her feet finding the slightly textured bottom. They splashed each other for awhile, until they wound up standing inches apart, facing each other, breathing hard from excitement and laughter. 

It was suddenly quiet, as they looked at each other, chests heaving. James angled his head like he was going to kiss her, and she parted her lips in anticipation. She wanted him to. She wanted his arms around her again, his skin on fire against hers, which was cooling from the water and the night air. She wanted to wrap her legs around him and never let go. 

She wanted it so much it scared her.

But she still couldn't let herself. So she dipped backwards, letting the water catch her in a float. The stars wavered overhead. 

A minute later, his shoulder bumped hers and he held out his hand. She grabbed it, and then they were floating together. She could see the Milky Way, a strange discolored rip in the fabric of the stars. It seemed impossible to be true, surrounded by city lights, but when she blinked it was still there. It looked like eternity. 

But it wasn't, so after a little while, she said, “Laundry's probably done.” She took her hand out of his and got out of the pool. The clothes were dry, and she folded them neatly into a sad little stack. When she finished, she turned and James stood there, watching her silently. “Thank you,” she said. She wondered if this was what was standing between them, but it was more than just money and gratitude. It was everything in her head, everything that had happened to her in the last few days. 

“For what?” 

“For today. For this. For everything.” 

“Don't mention it,” he said, and he meant it. He took her hand again and they walked to the motel room. 

“I'm going to take a shower, get the chlorine off,” she said, moving toward the bathroom. James's eyes immediately went to the bed, to the little pile of things that had come out of his pockets. It made her stop in her tracks. She half-expected some explosive reaction from him, but he just sighed softly. His hands wrapped around the items and moved them in a heap into his backpack, which was on the floor. 

He met her eyes, since she was still standing there. “Want company?” 

She shrugged, so forcedly casual it made her shoulders ache. 

“I'll wash your back,” he offered, with his sexy, dimpled grin, following her into the bathroom. He pulled off his trunks and slung them over the towel bar. Her gaze drifted down as he started the water running. 

She peeled off her swimsuit and put it in the sink, standing there naked as she rinsed it, knowing he was looking at her. She cut her eyes over at him and he didn't look away. 

He got into the shower and she followed him. The water was scalding and it felt amazing after the pool water in the cooling night air. There wasn't much room for two bodies in the shower, still trying not to touch. She stood under the spray and rinsed her hair, looking at his face, at the way his hair darkened when it was wet, watching the drops linger on his full lips. 

She wanted to touch him, to invite him to touch her, but she didn't know how to do it, short of grabbing his hand and putting it on her skin. So they looked at each other until James shut off the water. They stepped out into the steaminess of the bathroom, drying off with the thin motel towels. James left his in a pile on the tile floor and crossed the small space to the bed. 

He flung back the covers and got in, then looked at her. She lay down beside him, and he pulled the sheets and blanket over their bodies. Then he wrapped his arms around her, hot and strong and safe. It was all she'd wanted. He was all she wanted. 

“You wanna do it?” he asked, his words barely more than a breath against her ear. 

“Yeah,” she said, in a very small voice. 

“I didn't wanna assume,” he said. 

“I'm naked and we just took a shower together,” she pointed out. “At what point does it become an assumption?” 

“I don't know, Juliet,” he said, annoyed. “Maybe you just wanna be held.” 

“I do want to be held,” she said. “But I want you to fuck me first.” 

“That all it is?” he asked idly. “Fuckin'?” 

“I don't want to fall in love with you, James,” she said, more honest than she wanted to be. More honest than he deserved, possibly. And even as she said it, she wanted it to be a lie. 

“'s okay, I don't wanna fall for you either,” he said, and she knew immediately that it was a lie. He rose up over her and looked at her. She lay there on her back and looked up at him. He kissed her with his lips soft and tender. He stroked her face as she kissed him back. 

He broke away, and she made a soft sound of protest, but he gave her a wicked grin. Then he kissed his way down her body until his mouth was between her legs and she couldn't think anymore. 

When he was done, he lifted his head to look at her. She opened her eyes, feeling weak and happy and exhausted. He licked his lips and she shuddered, feeling an aftershock go through her. He stretched out beside her, his cheek against her shoulder. “I been wantin' to do that.” He had the most satisfied smile. 

She ran her fingers through his hair. It surprised her, because she never would have imagined that it could be so astoundingly good. That it was something he wanted to do. 

Jack had never done that.

She hated that she still thought about him. That she was thinking about him here, and now. 

“I've never – no one's ever –“ Her tongue stumbled on the words. She didn't know what to say, anyway. “James.” 

“Good,” he said, so strongly it surprised her. He had his hand on her ribs and she wasn't sure if it was possessive or jealous or both. 

She was going to have to figure out what to do. But not now. “James,” she said again. 

“Yeah, princess?” 

“Are you hard or did you get off?” 

“I'm like a rock.” 

“Why don't you,” she said softly, and that was all it took. He slid into her and she closed her eyes tightly with how good it felt. 

When they were finished, she stroked his hair and he whispered her name, a dozen times in a row, like he was trying to memorize it all, and she wondered what it meant. Then he dozed against her and she held him, trying not to think. 

But the thought popped urgently into her head: She had to call Rachel. 

She didn't want to move, but she didn't have a choice. If she didn't check in, her sister might call the cops. She slipped carefully out from under him, watching him closely, but he didn't wake. He smacked his lips and smiled a little, and then turned on his side away from her and sighed. Convinced he was still asleep, she sat on the edge of the bed and pushed the buttons on the phone. 

…

He lay there and thought he wanted to do that every single night for the rest of his life. 

He thought about telling her, too, but then she started to pull away from him. He sighed, and rolled over, away from her, feeling a lot of different things he didn't really have names for. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt like this before, and it was so fast. They'd only known each other a couple of days. 

And he wasn't sure she felt the same, though it was hard to doubt when she was lying melted and satisfied in his arms. But then she pulled away, and he felt afraid and alone again. 

She sat up and he heard the receiver of the phone being lifted and then the clicks of her fingers depressing the buttons. He knew who she was going to call, and it made his eyes hot so he closed them tight, holding his body still. 

“It's not that late, Rachel,” she said in a low voice. “I was busy... shut up!... We didn't make it to the bank today. I. I didn't make it... Oh? Yeah, he has ID... Okay, then you can put it in his name. James Ford... Yeah, like the car. And Indiana Jones... If only you could see him, Rachel. He's gorgeous... Okay, we're going to go first thing. I'm not sure where we're stopping tomorrow. But I'll call you. Love you, sis. Bye.” 

She sighed. The bed creaked as she shifted her weight. She hadn't asked her sister if the asshole had called. That was progress, maybe. He silently willed her to hang up the phone and not make the other call. 

But she dialed anyway. But she dialed. “Hi, Jack. It's me. I – don't know why I'm leaving you another message. It's pretty obvious... I feel like... I don't even know what to do. But I think this is goodbye. For real. Goodbye, Jack.” She put the phone down and took a couple of breathy sighs. Then she lay down, nestling against him, and she went to sleep. 

He couldn't sleep. He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness of the motel room. A little light from outside leaked around the curtains. She'd told the asshole goodbye. The question was, did she mean it? 

And was it because of him? 

It made his stomach ache, even as her body lay heavily up against him, her bare skin pressed against his. The taste of her lingered on his tongue. He wanted to roll over and kiss her, but he was afraid. She didn't hesitate with him in bed, but she did with her feelings. She wasn't sure of him, and hell, maybe he'd given her no reason to be, but it was like a stake in his heart. 

He didn't know what he could do differently. He could only be himself. 

Eventually he dozed, and later opened his eyes to sunlight, feeling like he hadn't slept at all. Her arm lay across his chest and he savored the feeling for a long moment. But he knew he wouldn't get back to sleep, and he didn't want to lie there with his thoughts anymore, so he slowly eased away from her, careful not to wake her up. 

He sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, looking at her peaceful face and her body. She curled her arms in on herself in his absence. Tempted to touch her, he got up and went into the bathroom to take a shower. He half-expected her to be up when he emerged, but she was still fast asleep. He put on clean clothes and picked up the paperback he'd been reading. 

It was a little too dim in the room to read, and he didn't want to sit back down on the bed and wake her. One of them might as well sleep, and it would be hours before the bank was open and they could hit the road again. He grabbed his wallet and the room key and slipped outside, closing the door softly behind him. 

The morning air was cool. He let himself into the pool area and stretched out on one of the chairs. The early sunlight was soft and not hot on his skin, perfect for reading. He didn't want to think, so he found the page he'd creased and opened the book, lying back against the plastic slats of the chair and letting himself get lost in the story. 

After awhile, he got hungry, so he closed the book and shoved it into his pocket. There was a McDonalds on the other side of the motel, so he crossed the parking lot to go inside. It amazed him that in seemingly every town, there was a strip of road right off the freeway with cheap motels and cheaper food. He ordered and then carried the bag of food and two scalding cups of coffee back, juggling a little as he opened the door to the motel room. 

He half-expected to find her still snuggled into the covers, but she was sitting up with her body stiff and her eyes cold. Her expression didn't change when she saw him. There was something stubborn and upset in the set of her lower lip. “Brought you breakfast,” he said, his most charming. He set the bag down on the table. She didn't move. “What's wrong?” 

“I woke up and you were gone.” 

“I went outside to read for awhile.” He tossed his book down on the table. “Tryin' to be courteous and let you sleep in.” He got full well that she was ticked at him, but he didn't understand why. He unpacked the bag of food onto the table. If they were going to fight, they might as well eat while they were doing it. “I got extra syrup cause I know it's your favorite.” 

She pressed her lips together. He was tempted to go over there and give her one of the coffees, to see if it would help, but instead he sat down and made himself at home. She could come and get it. He took the lid off and sipped and burned himself, of course. He unwrapped a McMuffin, watching her as she watched him right back. 

“I was right outside,” he said. “The car was still here, if you'd bothered to look. All my gear's here. And I told you last night I'm not the kind of asshole who's ever going to take off and leave you.” He looked at her, and if anything, her blue eyes were even wider now than they had been. “Guess you didn't believe me. But you should.” 

He was hurt by her lack of trust. Grudgingly, he supposed he could understand it. But he was sick of being in the shadow of her asshole ex and feeling like she didn't see him or hear him at all. Like he was just another guy, and not himself specifically. The guy who looked out for her and told her his secrets and made her body jolt in his arms when they were in bed together. He wanted to say all that, but figured he'd said enough. 

He tore through the sandwich, watching her as she got out of bed and crept toward him, like a wild animal tempted out of hiding by food. She'd gotten dressed already, before he got back. She reached the table and he pushed the styrofoam tray of hotcakes toward her with one finger. “Eat,” he said. 

Then he grabbed both orders of hash browns and got up, taking them with him to sit on the bed by himself, letting her have her space at the table. He didn't want to be in her orbit right now. He unfolded their big map and refolded it to show their route for the day. 

“Where are we headed?” she asked. She looked at him. Even if she didn't want him, if she was only putting up with his attention as a means to an end, she wanted his hash browns.

“It's about ten hours to Albuquerque,” he said. “Seems like a good place to stop. Get there late, but we don't got anything else to do.” 

“Oh,” she said, and poured all four syrups on the pancakes, drowning them. As he had known she would.

As he ate the second hash brown, he noticed she was wearing the dress they had bought the night before. It was yellow, with thin straps and cut low enough that he could see some cleavage. It was loose through the waist, giving way to a flouncy skirt. It looked pretty on her. 

He thought about how in about six months she was going to be blown up as big as a balloon, and he wondered where they would be then. She'd be snug in her apartment in LA. Thinking of his own future made him tense with uncertainty. He thought he wanted to be with her, but they might be a couple days away from saying goodbye.

The thought made him uncomfortable and anxious, so he got up and packed their things, which were strewn throughout the small motel room. The neat stack of laundry went into his backpack. He found the plastic bag from their shopping trip and put their still-damp swimsuits into it so they wouldn't get everything else wet and mildewy. He packed up their toiletries and zipped up the backpack. 

She'd finished the pancakes. There was still enough syrup left over in the bottom of the plate for a half-dozen more. She dragged the plastic fork through it, parting the brown liquid and then watching it fill back in. There was one McMuffin left and he put it into her hand, withdrawing her from her thoughts. “One for the road.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Let's go.” 

He waited for her to cross in front of him, out of the room and into the sunlight. She waited by the car while he turned in the room key. She was a knockout in that dress, he thought, admiring her long, pale legs. They got into the car and it was quiet while he drove to the bank. 

They arrived just as a guy in a suit was unlocking the front door. “My sister's wiring me some money,” Juliet said to the teller. “Or, she's wiring it to him.” She glanced over at James. 

“Have a seat,” the man said, indicating a pair of chairs similar to the ones in a doctor's waiting room. James thought this was probably where they kept people on the hook before telling them if they could have a loan. Just sitting there made him feel anxious. He wanted to play the alphabet game as a distraction, like they did in the car, but there wasn't much scenery in the bank. He fiddled with some pamphlets about savings accounts. Juliet sat perfectly still. She didn't say anything, so he stayed quiet too. There was too much to say, and too little. He couldn't find the words. 

They cooled their heels for half an hour before the man returned. “James Ford?” 

“That'd be me.” He sprang to his feet with a measure of relief. 

“I assume you have identification?” 

He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, his fingers sliding over the soft paper of the letter he always carried with him. He showed the bank teller his driver's license, and then followed him to the counter. The banker counted out two hundred dollars, snapping each bill crisply. James immediately handed the money to Juliet. He signed the slip, and then turned back to her. 

She didn't have pockets in her sundress, so she stood there looking down at the bills folded in the palm of her hand. “I can hold it for you,” he offered, deciding. He took the money back and folded it into his wallet. She seemed weird, the way she'd looked at the money, but he let her be. She'd already been weird enough for one day.

They got back into the car and he found their way back onto the highway. “Probably make Amarillo around lunchtime,” he said, glancing at her. He wanted things to go back to normal, now that they were back in their familiar surroundings of the car. He worried a little that last night had been what turned things weird. He'd thought the sex was good – more than good. The best he'd had, and she'd come multiple times so he'd thought it was mutual. But his doubts set in. 

“I thought it would be more,” she said. She was still thinking about the money. 

“Two hundred's plenty,” he said. 

“How much do I owe you already?” she asked. “I lost track.” She looked at him and made a face. “I know, you got it covered.” Apparently she was tired of hearing that he'd take care of her. 

He took in a deep breath and let it out. He might as well ask the question he wanted to know the answer to. The other thing that he thought might be what had changed things between them in some subtle, uncomfortable way. 

“Did you read the letter?” he asked, his voice hard. 

“What?” 

“The letter in the pocket of my jeans. I know you saw it when you did the laundry. Did you read it?” He could still see it there on the bed, where she'd put it with his other things when she'd emptied the pockets of his jeans. He wanted to put his hand into his pocket to touch it, the paper now as worn as an old security blanket. 

She let a long moment of time go by before she said yes. 

“Why?” He scowled, and felt his jaw clench. 

“Why are you angry?” Her voice was still small and soft. 

“Because it's private,” he said, and his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. She was right; he was angry. He'd trusted her with a lot, but this wasn't something for other people. This was something to keep locked inside him. “It's mine.” 

“You're really going to find him and give him that letter?” she asked. “After all this time. Why?” 

“So he'll know what he done.” 

“I'd think you'd want the two hundred dollars,” she said. “I mean, I'm going to make you take it. But I'd think you'd be more interested in having it all paid back. Because that's why you saved the money, isn't it? To find him.” She was so damn smart. 

“I was going to hire a private eye,” James admitted. That had been his grand plan. He didn't even remember now when he'd initially thought it up. Probably watching too many Sam Spade flicks on the TV. For years, every dollar he'd saved had been earmarked for this goal. “But then I got to thinkin'. I'll find him myself.” 

“You didn't want anyone else involved, because you're going to kill him, and you think you can get away with it.” 

“I don't care about getting away with it,” James shot back. 

“Is that why you're mad I read your letter?” she asked. “Because now somebody knows. I know.” 

“You ain't gonna do anything except try'n talk me out of it,” he sighed. She didn't say anything, and he knew he was right. “You wanted to be a doctor since you were a little bitty girl, well I wanted this. I wrote that letter at their funeral, watching all the nice people in town talk about 'em and pass judgment and they weren't even in the ground yet. Not even seven years old. 'You had sex with my mother.' You know what sex was when you were seven?” 

“Not really,” she said in a tiny voice. 

“So don't fucking judge me, Juliet.” 

“I'm not,” she said softly. 

“You afraid of me now?” He glared at her, hating how her tone had changed.

“No.” She raised her chin stubbornly.

“You sittin' over there thinkin' there's probably an airport in Amarillo and you can ask me to let you off there and take your two hundred bucks and be home before nightfall?” That made him angry, too. She finally had her cash and she didn't need him anymore. But he didn't want her to go. 

She didn't say anything. He gave her a hard look, and she put her face into her hands. Her shoulders started to shake. 

“Fuck.” He hadn't meant to do that. His entire body filled with cold dread. He shoved the wheel, steering over the rumble strip and onto the shoulder and stopping the car. He unclicked his seatbelt and turned to face her. He put out one hand but then stopped short of touching her. “Don't – I didn't mean to make you cry.” 

“Yeah, you did,” she said, and she was right. She raised her head and looked at him. Her eyes were red and a tear rolled down her face. He hated himself in that moment, watching her scrub her eyes with her hands until the tears were gone. “My hormones are a mess, so you don't get all the credit.” 

“I ain't ever gonna do anything to hurt so much as one hair on your curly little head,” he said. Now he dared to stroke her hair with a careful, reverent hand. “And hell, I ain't much of a detective so I'll probably never find that guy.” 

“You should become a cop,” she said, and she smiled. 

“What?” he laughed. 

She nodded and pushed her hair back. She wiped her eyes again. “Become a cop, and then you can find him, and bring him to justice.” 

“A cop,” he repeated, still incredulous. His mind raced. “Hell, why not,” he shrugged. He looked at her seriously, searching her face. “You okay?” 

“I'm hungry and I have to pee again, but I'm okay,” she confirmed. She'd stopped crying, though her eyes were still watery. 

“You wanna go by the side of the road?” he asked. “Since we're already stopped. Where'd you put that spare McMuffin?” She got out. He averted his eyes, digging around in the backseat for the sandwich. He put it into her hand when she got back into the car. 

Their eyes met. She smiled at him, a little tentative, holding the McMuffin in her hand. He smiled back. They'd be okay. He flicked on the blinker and looked over his shoulder, then pulled back onto the road, headed for Amarillo.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

After lunch in Amarillo, they pulled off the road a couple of miles outside the city limits at the Cadillac Ranch. The vintage cars covered with spray-painted graffiti rose on an angle from the ground. There was room to park off the frontage road, so they got out and headed closer. “That's somethin',” James said. 

“It's beautiful,” Juliet said. “It's art.” She dashed toward the arrangement of cars, the wind catching her skirt so it billowed out around her. There were no barriers around the site, so they could walk right up to the cars. She looked up at the layers of paint and ran her hand along one of the cars. James came up beside her and she looked at him. “I wish we had spray paint.” They could have left their mark. They could have been a part of something, at least until someone else came along and painted over it. But they hadn't known this was here until they saw it, so they hadn't been prepared. 

“Here.” He handed her a small yellow cardboard box, which was not spray paint, but was the disposable camera she'd purchased the night before. 

She'd already forgotten about it. It made her smile as she reached for it. This was perfect; they could preserve their memories of the trip. “I'll take one of you.” She gestured for him to stand next to the car, and then took several big steps backward to get both man and vehicle in the frame. She clicked and advanced the wheel. “I wish we could get one of us together.” But they were alone in the field. 

“We'll find somebody later,” he promised. She handed him the camera and he slid it into his back pocket. “There's plenty more stops.” She watched him look up at the tail fins pointed at the sky, and then at the line of cars. “You tired of bein' in the car yet?” 

Yes, but at the same time she never wanted it to end. “Are you?” she asked back, not answering the question. He didn't answer her either, so she started walking, exploring. She roamed around the cars, circling in and around them. They were all slightly different, maybe different years, and then of course the paint. She read some of the graffiti and wondered how it had gotten started. That probably hadn't been the point. 

She wondered what the point might have been, but it was art. It kind of reminded her of Stonehenge, and she thought about the mystery it would be for some future civilization, thousands of years from now, when their society and culture had mostly been forgotten. It made her feel small. 

Peeking around one of the cars, she saw that James was standing back at a distance, taking it all in. He was watching her, too. That made her smile and she realized she felt happy here, in the strong, hot Texas sunshine, looking at another wacky roadside attraction, with him. She thought about their disagreements and tried to think about how she could keep this feeling and carry it with them. 

“You ready?” he called to her. 

She ran her fingers along the smooth, hot metal of the cars and emerged from between two of them. She walked over to him, and put her hand into his. Then she turned her face up and kissed him. He ducked his head back with surprise, looking into her eyes. “What's that for?” 

“I wanted to,” she said. “I'm happy.” Doubts began to fill her again, and she didn't want to let them. Her doubts – and his – were the poison between them. “Aren't you?” 

He thought about it for a second. She watched him look past her, at the cars and the horizon and the sky. “Yeah,” he said, distracted like he was still thinking about it. Then his eyes focused on hers for a second, and that look felt significant, before he closed his eyes to kiss her. 

They parted reluctantly after the kiss ended. “My turn to drive?” she asked, as they turned to walk back to the Honda Civic, still hand in hand. 

“I'm good for awhile,” he said. “We had a long stop, with lunch.” 

“Okay,” she agreed easily. She wanted to drive, but she could let it go. 

They settled back into the car. She fiddled with the radio as James got back onto the highway, pointed west. All the music was country, but it wasn't bad. She was starting to learn, and like, some of the songs. Juliet rolled down the window so she could feel the breeze, turning her face into it so she could watch the passing scenery. She asked herself again why she felt so happy, but she didn't even know. For some reason, being here, with him, was enough for the moment, and the moment was all she needed. 

The road continued to unwind in front of them. A couple of hours later, they spotted the sign for the Dairy Queen at the same time. James didn't even ask, just put on the turn signal and swooped toward the offramp. 

“It's funny how even in small towns, there's a Dairy Queen,” Juliet remarked. He waited for her at the exit of the restroom, as usual, and it made her smile. 

“Gotta have something,” he said. “Right off the road, prob'ly get plenty of tourists.” 

“Like us,” she agreed, and they got into line, then took their chocolate-dipped soft serve cones to one of the booths. She bit into the chocolate coating and the ice cream stung her teeth. James licked his cone, almost delicately. “What's your favorite flavor?” 

“DQ ain't got flavors,” he pointed out, with a grin to show he knew what she was really asking. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at him. “Partial to butter pecan.” 

“Different,” she said, and smiled at the way he said 'pecan.' She really did love his soft southern drawl. Sometimes she thought she didn't hear it, but maybe she'd just gotten used to it, and then it reappeared. 

“Bet you like vanilla.” 

“Only the real, good kind,” she said. “Not the white ice cream that doesn't really taste like anything.” 

“Sorta like we're eatin' now,” he pointed out. 

She nodded, and looked out the window. Dark clouds lined the horizon, miles away across the flat land. She wondered what it meant that he'd once again been able to pin down her preferences so effortlessly. She wondered what made her the kind of girl who'd like vanilla in his eyes, rather than chocolate or pistachio or rocky road. Was she so generic and easy to know? 

“It ain't a bad thing to like vanilla,” he said. 

She shivered, and not just from the ice cream, though he looked at her like he was concerned that she was cold. Not realizing it was because he was reading her mind. “I like chocolate, too,” she said. 

“Chocolate's the default,” he said. “I like chocolate. Ever'body likes chocolate.” He licked his cone more aggressively. His mouth would be cold if she kissed him. 

“If you could have one paranormal power, what would you pick?” she asked, changing the subject. 

“You don't get to pick,” he said. She looked at him curiously. “I read books. Nobody gets to pick their superpower.” 

“If you could.” 

He thought about it for a long time. “Turning invisible, maybe.” 

“That's a superpower, not a paranormal power,” she said. “I meant like seeing the future, or reading minds, or --” 

“It'd be paranormal if you could turn invisible,” he pointed out. “Paranormal just means outside the norm. Not some narrow set of subject for Stephen King novels.” 

She pressed her lips together and just looked at him. It was a conversation filler; she wasn't sure why it annoyed her. “Why would you want to be invisible?” she asked. 

He gave her a wicked grin. “See all kinds of things you ain't meant to see. Sneak in places without getting caught. It'd be fun.” 

It seemed juvenile to her, but she could see it. She crunched into her cone. He was still making his last. She wondered if he didn't get treats very often, where she didn't give it a second thought. Last year, she and her roommates had gone out for frozen yogurt several times a week. It was just something to do. Maybe she and James's backgrounds were too different and ultimately they'd be incompatible. 

“You ain't gonna tell me what you'd pick?” he asked. 

“I figured you'd just guess it for me, like you did with the ice cream flavor,” she said. She watched his face change, become more set and guarded, and she wished she could take it back. “Probably telepathy. Hear other peoples' thoughts.” 

“That'd make you crazy,” he said. 

“Maybe I can turn it on and off, like you wouldn't be invisible all the time. Only when you wanted to be. You wouldn't really want to know?” 

“You care too much what other people think of you,” he said, like it was something he'd observed, not just an offshoot of this conversation. 

“And you don't give a damn,” she said. 

He looked at her with velvet softness in his eyes. “I care,” he said. 

Her throat closed up and she struggled to swallow. That look made her breathless, because it was about her. She didn't know what to do with it, but she'd have to figure it out soon. “I think I'm done,” she said, about her ice cream. She'd almost finished it. 

He hadn't even touched the cone part of his yet, but he took hers from her and got up, sighing as he put them both into the trash. “You gotta go again?” he asked, his eyes flicking toward the restrooms. 

“Now who's telepathic,” she said. 

“I'll be in the car,” he said. She wanted to touch him, and he was still giving her that look. But she slipped away, hurrying. 

Outside, the storm clouds had come closer but the rain hadn't started yet. Juliet got into the car and James began backing out even as she reached for her seatbelt. The ice cream left a sour taste in her mouth and the change in the air made her feel anxious. Her head was filling up with thoughts again. She wondered where her happy sunshine mood had gone as she worried at a strand of her hair, twisting it around her finger, unwrapping it, then wrapping it again. 

She looked at James, watching his hands on the wheel and studying his face. She had no idea what he was thinking about. 

“Maybe I will get an abortion,” she said, mostly just to hear the words out loud. 

James turned his head and gave her a startled look. 

“It'd solve a lot of problems. I could finish school. Become a doctor, like I planned. Never have to talk to Jack again about anything ever. It's not too late.” These were all items in the column for why it was a good idea. Maybe she could talk herself into it. Maybe he could. 

“I thought you wanted it.” He hit the one big reason in the column for reasons against it. 

“I do,” she said, and let herself feel the hurt, maybe for the first time. How it would feel to make the decision, instead of just doing nothing. “We don't always get what we want, James.” 

“Your call,” he said. “Ain't no reason not to get what you want when it's your decision.” 

“Except all the reasons I just listed,” she pointed out. The rain drops began to fall, big fat ones at first. 

“Kinda extreme to do that just to avoid talking to the asshole.” 

“It would just be so much easier.” These were the words circling around and around endlessly in her head. Nothing would have to change. Except things had already changed. 

“Maybe it ain't supposed to be easy, Juliet. It's life.” 

“What about you?” she asked. 

“Still not knocked up,” he said. 

“Could you raise another man's child?” She peeked at him, afraid to look, ready to spew out a long, drawn out explanation that she didn't mean him, not really, that she was using him as a measuring device against any man she might meet in the future. 

But she really meant him.

“You makin' plans for us in that head of yours?” he asked, then went on without waiting for a response. “Maybe I could,” he said. “Fortune teller said I would.” 

“And you said she was full of baloney.” 

“She was full of bullshit, but you believed it,” he said. “You wanted to believe it.” 

She did want to believe it. She wanted... what? she asked herself. For him to love her so much it didn't matter? To be able to believe he wouldn't eventually resent her, and the kid? 

“What happens when we get to LA?” she asked. That was at the heart of it all. When the road ended and they finally got out of the car – what next? 

“Guess you didn't hear I'm becomin' a cop,” he said, joking. He glanced at her and his dimples disappeared. His answer turned serious. “Cops earn decent money. Enough for an apartment with room for three of us. Maybe a babysitter for when you're in class and I gotta work.” 

So he'd been making plans for them in his head, too, she thought, and wondered what else he had been thinking. 

“Jack is so going to punch you out when he meets you.” 

“No he ain't,” James said. “I'm gonna deck him first. He won't even see it coming.”

She smiled, and knew it was wrong to smile. But it was part of the fantasy. Even if she and James ended up together, it'd still be Jack's baby. He'd still be involved somehow. Her smile faded and she sighed. 

“How come you call him every night?” James's voice was low and she could see him frowning. He had that crease between his eyes that she always wanted to smooth away with her finger. 

“You know about that?” she asked, surprised. It turned her stomach a little bit. Just calling Jack at all made her feel sick, with all the emotions wrapped up in it. Now she felt caught, as well. Like she'd betrayed James in some way. 

“I heard you,” he admitted. “I know why you're callin' your sister. But I can't figure why you're calling him.” 

“I don't know,” she said. She moved her legs in the space in front of her and rearranged the hem of her dress. 

“How can you not know why you're doin' a thing,” he said, but she just didn't. She felt like she had to, but that wasn't an answer. She was afraid Jack would pick up the phone and she'd have to talk to him, and afraid he wouldn't. “You still love him?” 

“I can't trust him ever again. There's nothing without that.” She realized it was a dodge, but it was the truth. It had only been a few days. She kept telling herself she hated Jack for what he'd done, and she did, but he was still there in her heart and in her body. 

“You trust me?” 

She thought about it for a long time before she said yes. She meant it, she realized, even though she didn't trust herself in trusting him. That's why she felt that moment of panic every time she turned around and he was gone, but he was always somewhere, waiting for her. Not leaving her. 

“It ain't just sex and hormones sayin' that?” 

“I'm not a zombie. I still have a mind,” she snapped. 

“Okay,” he protested. 

“I think I'm calling him to say goodbye. Because I didn't get to.” She felt exposed, admitting this.

He took a deep breath through his nose and she thought for a minute he wasn't going to say anything. “As good a reason as any, I guess,” he said. 

“You jealous?” Her voice comes out low and measured. She doesn't know what she wants him to say. He shouldn't be jealous of Jack... should he? She and Jack are finished. 

“Nothin' to be jealous of,” he said. 

“Just the baby,” she said, and looked out the window, feeling miserable again. She'd already decided what to do. She didn't know why she was trying to undecide now, except that she was right. It would be easier. She wanted to ask James what he thought she should do, but she knew he'd tell her it was her decision. She just didn't want to think about it anymore, and there were a lot more months of thinking if she was going to have it. 

So it was time to change the subject. “I spy with my little eye... something blue,” she said. 

“The sky in between those clouds over there,” James sighed. 

“You're amazing at this game,” she declared. “Your turn.” 

…

It was late when they got to Albuquerque. James had started a game of Alphabet about fifty miles back, figuring he could use the city for the Q and declare himself the winner. 

“I've never met anyone who saw the alphabet game as a game of strategy,” Juliet said, and there was a note of admiration in her voice that he enjoyed. He thought it was funny that they were grown and kept playing the game as they were driving, instead of just playing it once and letting it go. But then she said, “Q still isn't the end of the game, so you haven't won yet.” 

“No one is ever going to get X, Y or Z,” he pointed out, and not for the first time. But he was grinning, and so was she. 

He pulled into the parking lot of a Ponderosa steakhouse that was on the strip of motels and food chains. He knew Juliet had to be hungry, because he was, and she always was. By the time they got a room and came back out, the place might be closed. He didn't want to risk it, so dinner was first. 

They wound their way through the buffet, placing their order for steaks and loading up plates with rolls and salad. “The price seems suspiciously low for steak,” Juliet murmured to him. 

“Ain't you never been here before?” he asked, as they found an empty booth. They could start on their food while waiting for the waitress to bring their meat to the table. He supposed it was kind of strange. But it was better than McDonalds. 

He'd brought the map in with them, going through his refolding ritual so it displayed the next day's drive. “Grand Canyon's not far,” he observed, and looked at her. Albuquerque to LA looked like a twelve hour drive, even farther than they'd traveled that day. They'd gotten a late start, but it had been a long day. They could use a break. He also wouldn't mind stretching the trip out an extra day. He wasn't ready to say goodbye. 

“You want to go?” she asked. 

“How can we get this close and just drive on by?” he asked. “It'll make it a nice easy day. Drive for a couple hours, then go sightsee. Take a break. We got time.” He did his best to convince her without trying to make it sound like he was trying to convince her. 

She didn't even hesitate. “Sounds good,” she agreed. She slid over to get out of the booth. “Be right back.” He watched her walk away, over to the restrooms. 

James was tired. He'd done most of the driving and his shoulders ached. He supposed he could have let her take the wheel, he thought, his mind wandering over some of the things they'd talked about. He blinked when the waitress appeared with their steaks. She was about sixteen, with thick bangs and a cute smile. He glanced at her nametag. “You think you can do me a favor, Cassidy?” 

“That depends on what the favor is,” she said, with both a sparkle in her eye like she thought he was cute, and the wariness of a girl who worked with the public and probably got all kinds of nasty requests. 

He pulled the disposable camera out of his backpack. He'd been thinking about what Juliet had said at Cadillac Ranch, about wanting a picture of them together. “When my friend gets back, will you take a picture of us together? We didn't get one earlier.” 

The girl looked at the map laying on the table, then at him. “You on your honeymoon?” she asked, conversationally. 

“Not exactly,” James replied. How many times had he gotten that question? Maybe it was a natural thing to assume, though he always figured a honeymoon was a big, expensive trip to the islands, not a long-ass drive. But in some ways, it wasn't wrong at all. Though he figured you usually fell in love before the honeymoon.

Juliet approached the table. Cassidy looked at her and decided, holding out her hand for the camera. James gave it over to her. “Slide in next to him,” she said to Juliet, who looked curiously at James, but did as she was told. He slung his arm around her. “Say cheese.” 

The built-in flash blinked, and the waitress wound it to the next frame. “One more, just in case,” she said. “Three, two --” 

Impulsively, James kissed Juliet, and when the flash went off this time, they both saw stars. Juliet put her hand on his chest, but he'd already ended the kiss. He wanted more. He always did. The waitress gave him a smile and set the camera at the edge of the table. 

He looked at Juliet, thinking about another kiss, but she was scooting along the seat to get out of the booth. She sat down across from him and picked up the camera, toying with it. “Very cute.” 

“Hey, I did promise you I'd find somebody to take our picture.” It was strange how it made it feel like now it was real. There was evidence. Even when they got to LA and undoubtedly parted ways, there was proof this had happened. 

“And you always keep your promises?” she asked. Her voice had turned husky, like it did when she was being serious. He met her eyes and wondered why. 

“Some of 'em,” he said, knowing it wasn't the answer she wanted. He picked up his fork and gestured to their food. “Dig in.” 

They ate quickly, and it was mostly quiet between them, with a little speculation about the Grand Canyon and what it would be like. He didn't want to think any farther into the future than that. Juliet cleaned her plate and he thought about how much he wanted to touch her, fantasizing a little about sliding his hands over her skin and how he knew the noises she would make when he did. He thought about how that little kiss before dinner left him wanting more. 

“Dessert?” Juliet asked. 

He shook his head and set his napkin down on the table, too full to think about it. 

“I'm going to.” She slid out of the booth again, headed for the sundae bar. He turned around in his seat to watch her. He thought about how they'd already had ice cream once that day. He thought about how prickly she got sometimes in their conversations, but he knew she was just scared. He could feel that, too. 

She filled a little dish with the chocolate-and-vanilla swirl soft serve, then poured on a ton of caramel sauce and topped the whole thing with sprinkles and a pair of cherries. When she returned, he snagged one of the cherries and she shot him a look. He knew she'd gotten two because she expected him to.

The excess of caramel sauce formed a little moat in the dish around the mound of ice cream. “This is worse than the pancakes,” he said, teasing her a little. 

“You can make your own how you like it,” she said primly and took a tiny bite with one of the long-handled dessert spoons. 

“You're not going to eat all of that.” 

“How do you know?” 

“You'd have to pick it up and drink it.” He thought about going and grabbing another cherry from the sundae bar, but he knew it wouldn't taste as good as the first one had, so he stayed put. He watched her take another dainty bite, and then she pushed the dish away with her fingertips. She was finished, and she'd made his point. He didn't say anything. 

“You want to go to a movie?” she asked. “I saw a theater on the other side of the parking lot when we pulled in.” 

“What was playing?” he asked, like it mattered. If she wanted to go, they'd go. He liked the idea of going to a movie with her, sitting together in the dark. They'd spent all of their time the last few days together, and they'd been together, but it would be kind of like a date. It might be nice. 

“New Indiana Jones. You seen it yet?” 

“No,” he said. “Have you?” 

“Uh-uh. And it's Indiana Jones. How can you resist?” 

“I can't,” he said, which was the truth. He'd been wanting to see it, and now was his chance. He could see it with her. They left the restaurant and moved the car across the lot to the theater. He reached for her hand as they walked up to the ticket booth. He scanned the listings on the marquee. “Starts in five minutes.” 

“Perfect timing,” she said. “Like it was meant to be.” 

He just squeezed her hand, because he liked the idea. The lobby was empty, and there was only one employee. The one who'd sold them the tickets also ripped them and pointed them to the theater. They walked into the plain black box with the bright white screen. “Where do you want to sit?” she asked. They had their pick of the place. It seemed Albuquerque was not much of a late movie town. 

“Back?” he suggested. There was only one reason to sit in the back of the movie theater, and they both knew what it was. He couldn't wait to put his lips on her neck and fill his senses with her again. 

“We're going to watch the movie, James,” she reminded him. 

He sighed. “Middle, then.” The place was deserted. There was no reason to sit in back – they could make out in the front damn row if they wanted to. And they had their pick of seats, so why not take the best ones. They crossed to the center of the middle row in the theater. “You want popcorn or anything?” he whispered into her ear after they'd settled in. 

“We just ate,” she pointed out.

“I still had to ask,” he said. “Makin' out during the previews okay?” He traced her collarbone hopefully. It was cold in the theater with air conditioning and it raised goosebumps on her skin. He could warm her up. 

“As long as you stop when the movie starts.” 

“So many rules,” he breathed into her ear and she shuddered deliciously. He draped one arm around her shoulders and licked her earlobe. He sucked on it lightly then bit it gently, before moving to kiss her behind the ear. Her pulse beat strong and fast under his tongue as he tasted her skin the way he'd been thinking about. 

He drew back for a second to look at her in the dim light. The previews had started with bright lights and loud, crashing action. Her mouth was open and he kissed her. She kissed him back, running her fingers through his hair in a way that felt amazing. His hand started to slide into the top of her sundress. 

But then the movie started, and by prior agreement, it was time to stop. He wasn't disappointed for long, getting lost in the story of the familiar, beloved character. Two hours of Nazis, blimps, Sean Connery and Harrison Ford later, they emerged into the cooling night with black sky above them. 

“Good idea,” he said, as they approached the car. 

“They named the dog Indiana,” she quoted from the film and giggled. The sound went right through him and he wondered if he'd heard her laugh before. He must have, but it felt like the first time. He couldn't stop looking at her. 

“I really wanted to be Han Solo when I grew up,” he confessed, and he meant it. Like Han Solo was a job he could learn how to do. 

“He's so cool, even I want to be him,” Juliet said, but she was joking a little. 

They got into the car and drove the motel. This one was a Days Inn, but the only difference between it and Motel 6 was the ugly pattern on the bedspreads. “I gotta take a shower,” he said. 

Juliet nodded, reaching to pull the paperback book out of the side pocket of his backpack. He undressed, watching her turn the pages. He stood there for a minute before grabbing his soap and shampoo and going into the bathroom. 

He thought about her while he washed. He wanted to pick up where they'd left off in the theater, but he didn't know how to say it or ask. Especially when she was readin' a book like it was the furthest thing from her mind. He sighed and rinsed his hair with cool water. 

When he came out of the bathroom, still toweling his hair, she was curled up on the bed with the phone in her hand. Their eyes met, and he saw her look at his bare chest and his arms. “Love you, sis. Bye,” she said, and hung up the phone. 

He lowered his arm, with the towel dangling from his hand. He stood stiffly, waiting. Knowing that she had another call to make, the same call she'd made all the other nights they'd been together. 

All the other nights she'd been with him, and called her ex. 

“I'm not calling him anymore,” she said, in answer to a question he wasn't asking. 

“You can if you want,” he said. Forcing himself to sound cooler and calmer than he felt. Pretending it didn't matter to him if she did or not. 

“I said goodbye. I'm not going to keep saying it.” Her stubborn expression faded as she looked at him. “Rachel said I should have it.” 

“That's still on your mind?” He sat down beside her, and he wanted to touch her, but he kept his hands to himself. She nodded, with her blue eyes wide, and suddenly she looked very young to him. They were both very young. He tended to feel like he'd been alive for thousands of years, and she was so confident and capable that it was easy to forget they were both just nineteen. “You ain't gotta decide today.” 

She looked at him and he wondered if this was going to come between them. Because as much as she thought he should mind, he didn't. 

“Soon,” she said, and nodded. She looked away again. “But I already picked a name. For if it's a boy. I'm not sure about a girl.” 

“Godzilla works for both,” he suggested. She smiled, and it pushed the misery from her face. It made him smile at her, feeling satisfied. Mission accomplished. 

She drew a breath. “Is this real, James?” She looked into his eyes. 

“Feel real to you?” he asked. She nodded. “Me too.” He gave her a soft, sweet kiss and reached to turn out the light. Then he lay down, and she lay down next to him. He waited for her to touch him, and when she did, she just put her arms around him and lay against his back. He let out a long, slow breath, trying to calm the heat in his veins. He wanted her, but he wasn't going to push for more. He knew she was thinking, and that he needed to let her.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

They left early the next morning, turning in the keys to the motel in the pale light. The idea was that they could drive to the Grand Canyon and get there while there was still time left in the day and be able to sightsee quite a bit. James drove, and Juliet turned up the radio to drown out the silence.

Yesterday was the first day they hadn't had sex. It felt strange, and she didn't know what to think. It was also so opposite of her usual experience, or what they probably should be doing, that she almost wanted to laugh. For most people who'd only known each other for the few days they'd been on the road, it would have been normal. But it had never been normal between her and James. 

They'd been rushing headlong, as the car ate up the miles toward Los Angeles. Their entire relationship had a deadline, though neither of them admitted it. Yesterday they'd talked like it was going to be forever. Except neither of them believed in forever. 

He'd held her all night, and it had been wonderful. Every time she woke up, his arms were around her, keeping her close and safe. She'd clung to that as her thoughts raced. She didn't want to think about the future anymore. 

She wanted to stay in the present and make it last. Slow time down to a stop. Everything would change when they got to LA. 

She wasn't the only one trying to slow down time. They made a stop at the Jackrabbit Ranch, which was basically a giant gift shop with billboards they'd been seeing for miles. They used the facilities, and she took a picture of James riding on the back of a giant fiberglass rabbit like it was a horse and he was in a rodeo. 

They were only a few more miles down the road when he hit the brakes and parked crookedly. “What's going on?” she asked. 

He shook the hair out of his eyes and looked at her. He pointed to the intersection. “Standing on the corner in Winslow, Arizona,” he said. “The Eagles?” he added. 

“I know the song, James,” she said, as patiently as she could. “You're driving slow, too, and that's not like you.” 

Emotions drifted across his face. “We're almost to LA.” He tipped his chin down and his hair tumbled back into his eyes. 

“We're a state and a half away.” 

“Tomorrow you'll be sleepin' in your own bed,” he said. He looked at her intensely.

“Oh.” Maybe she hadn't been the only one thinking of last night as a missed opportunity. She wished the sundress had pockets so she'd have something to do with her hands. She looked at the corner. “Take it easy,” she said, hoping for a laugh. She didn't get one. “Let's not worry about tomorrow. Let's just enjoy today. At full speed. So we can see the big ditch before the sun goes down.” 

James nodded. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and handed them to her, then pushed the door open. He got out and didn't even stretch. They hadn't been driving far enough to need to. Juliet got out, too, and they changed sides. She was tempted to reach out her hand and touch his chin, to stop him and kiss him. She thought about sex in the car by the side of the road in the rain. They couldn't do that here. She sat down in the driver's seat. 

James got in and stretched out his long legs in the passenger seat. He leaned against the door like he was thinking about sleeping. She pulled out of the parking space and got back on the highway, punching the gas. “Did you mean what you said yesterday?” 

“We were in the car for a hundred and sixteen hours yesterday. I probably said a lot of things.” He'd tilted his head up to look at the sky passing over their heads. 

“When you were going to take my suggestion that you become a cop.” 

“Thought we weren't talkin' about the future,” he reminded her. Then he sighed. “Maybe.” He straightened up in his seat and glanced at her. “I kinda like the idea. I never would've thought of it if you hadn't've suggested it. But it feels right. If I wash out, I can become a private eye like Sam Spade.” 

She tried to picture him in a trench coat, skulking underneath a streetlight with a cigarette hanging from his lip. It was absurd. “So you're going to stay? In LA? When we get there?” She tried not to sound as hopeful as she felt, and she knew she failed. 

“LA's not the only place that's got cops,” he pointed out. She lifted her foot off the gas, and the car slowed noticeably. James shot her a wicked grin. “Why not LA.” 

Juliet pushed the gas and took the car back up to 75, which was about the top speed of the little Civic. She tried not to feel too relieved. 

“Why ya askin'?” he asked. 

“Maybe I'm not ready to say goodbye to you,” she said in a low voice. It took all of her courage to glance at him. He met her eyes and nodded, and she knew he felt the same way. 

After a while, they turned off on the road that led to the Grand Canyon. It was about an hour from Flagstaff. At first, the road seemed desolate, but as they got closer, the encroachment of tourism made it evident they were on the right path. There were cheap motels and souvenir stores and the ubiquitous fast food places. 

“Fudge,” Juliet said, reading one of the signs and turning her head to look at the shop advertising candy. “It's funny that fudge and tourist traps seem to go together, but you never see it anywhere else. They don't have fudge in the grocery store.” 

“We'll get you some,” James promised, and put his hand on her knee. She fought to keep her breathing calm, and after a second, he removed it. 

At the end of the tourist trap road was the national park gate. Juliet handed the attendant the admission fee, and in return she received a map of the park and a brochure of information. She handed them to James and drove slowly into the park, looking for a place to park the car. 

“I changed my mind,” James announced, and she glanced at him. “I'm gonna be a park ranger. Now that would be cool. Workin' outdoors, living off the land...” 

“I think you've confused a park ranger with being a farmer,” Juliet said, but she was smiling. “I'm pretty sure rangers live in dorms and eat in a cafeteria. They don't live off the land.” 

“You can pack in the idea of bein' a doctor and we can be hippies. Peace and free love,” he said. 

“Woodstock II was in New York and I think you missed it,” she said, and pulled into a parking space at the far end of the lot. She turned off the car and handed him the keys to put into his pocket, then faced him. “You ready for this?” 

“Here's your camera.” He pulled the small box out of his backpack and put it into her hands. It had a little strap, which she hung around her wrist when they got out of the car. 

The park was crowded, and it was hot. They walked along the trail, not looking at the map but following the hordes of families and couples of every shape, shade and size. Finally they made it to the edge, which had a thick metal safety railing. Juliet stood up on tiptoe to lean over the railing to take a picture, feeling James's hand strong on her back. She turned and looked at him. He was looking at her and not at the cliff face on the other side of the canyon. “Does it look small to you?” she asked. 

“I didn't wanna say it,” he said. 

“I mean, it's beautiful,” she said. “The rocks and everything. Maybe we just need a different angle.” She took his hand and led him further along the path. A departing family left a space at the edge so they stopped to look over the railing. It still looked small, she thought. It was decent size, she'd just expected it to be bigger. 

The bottom of the canyon was very far down, with a gray ribbon of river running through it. She thought about how this had been here, like this, since the Ice Age. She thought about how many people had stood here and looked at this exactly same sight over the millennia. It should have made her feel small. If she squinted, she could see people riding donkeys along the bottom of the canyon, and she thought that might be fun. 

“Stand there,” James said suddenly. He reached for the camera, sliding the strap from over her wrist. He took a step back, framing her and the canyon together and then pressing the button to take the picture. He handed the camera back to her and rejoined her at the railing. She wondered how the pictures would come out. 

They stood there watching, feeling the breeze and listening to the other tourists. “Seen enough?” Juliet asked after awhile. 

“Yeah.” 

“Me too,” she said, and took his hand. “We could probably find a park naturalist talk. Or activities. Maybe look into those donkey rides to the bottom. Where'd you put the brochure?” she asked. 

“It's in the car,” he said, and he didn't seem that interested. 

They walked back toward the gift shop, dodging the eager crowds who were headed the other way, toward the canyon. “Maybe I built it up too much in my head.” 

“Maybe all the people calling it a natural wonder and talkin' it up our whole lives built it up too much in our heads.” 

“I mean, it wasn't bad,” she said. “It looks exactly like you'd think it would look. The way it looks on TV.” 

“Everything looks bigger on TV.” They'd reached the gift shop. He opened the door and stood there for her to walk through it, then followed her. “At least there's a gift shop.” 

“I do love a good gift shop,” she admitted, and he gave her one of his dimpled grins with sly eyes, because he knew that about her. It made happiness flutter in her chest. 

They parted ways to wander a bit. Juliet browsed through the books, pamphlets and stickers. She wondered why souvenir spoons existed. Spinning the postcard rack, she spotted a bumper sticker. She grabbed it and headed over to a table where James had just discovered a large display of several flavors of fudge. 

“Juliet,” he said, turning abruptly to look at her, which put him directly in the path of a little girl. 

The girl was probably eleven years old, and she plowed right into him. She stepped back, looking up at the obstacle in surprise, and James put his hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” he asked. 

“Katie, you get your ass back here,” a man yelled behind them. Juliet turned and looked, determining that this must be Katie, and the guy hadn't spotted her yet. 

James narrowed his eyes and turned himself so that he was standing between the man and the girl. Juliet stood by and watched. “That your father?” he asked. 

“He's NOT my father,” the girl said, her green eyes flashing with stubbornness. “He's just the jerk my mom married.” 

“Katie, honey? Your father paid a lot of money for this trip so --” The girl's mom was thin and blond, standing next to the angry man, with a cast on her wrist. She hadn't spotted them either. 

“You go that way,” James said, indicating with a tip of his head. “I'll get 'em off your trail, freckles.” 

“Thanks, mister,” she said, giving him an extra long look. Juliet understood that look very well. She might be wearing it herself. Her heart wasn't so far removed from being an eleven-year-old girl. The girl dashed off, zigzagging and disappearing like something out of Oliver Twist. 

He was good with her, Juliet thought, looking at James again. 

He'd cleared his expression and turned, putting himself directly in the path of the woman and her husband. They couldn't avoid him between the displays in the shop. “You lose track of somebody?” 

“My daughter. Katherine,” the woman said. 

“Bout yay-high, dark hair?” James asked, holding up his hand to indicate her height, his eyes moving interestedly from the woman to the man. 

“That'd be her,” the man sighed. 

“Saw her heading that way,” James said, spinning them in the opposite direction the girl had gone. “Think maybe the bathrooms are that way. Go on and you're sure to find her.” 

The pair of them walked away. Juliet closed the distance between herself and James, standing by his side. “What was the point of that?” she asked. “They'll find her eventually.” 

“Give that guy enough time to cool down 'bout whatever he was buzzing about,” James said, and there was something serious in his eyes. Then he broke into a grin. “And it was fun.” 

Making mischief, she thought. And playing hero. It made her chest ache. She handed him the bumper sticker.

“What's this?” He looked down at it, then back at her. 

“A missed opportunity,” she said. “We could have been collecting them the whole trip. Putting them on your car.” 

“Why?” 

“Because that's what people do on road trips,” she said. 

“I love that you're sentimental.” He put an arm around her waist, pulling her into him until his lips touched her forehead. Then he put the bumper sticker down on the table with the fudge and walked away from it. They'd almost made it to the doors when he turned around and winked at Katie, who was watching them from the other side of the gift shop. She hadn't been discovered yet. Juliet turned and looked back at her too, and the girl gave her a wave. 

Juliet wondered how long the game of hide and seek would go on. She wondered what that little girl's home life was like. She thought that James thought he'd seen something of himself in her, a strange connection. 

They walked back to the car together slowly, holding hands. “We've driven almost the whole way across the country,” she realized for the first time. A few days ago, they'd been within sight of the Atlantic. Tomorrow it would be the Pacific. An entire continent behind them. She wondered if they were different now, for the journey. 

“My ass will never be the same,” he said, half-joking. He paused at the car door. “I am getting sick of sitting in this thing.” 

“So I guess I shouldn't make the suggestion that we keep going today.” There were still many good hours of daylight, since the Grand Canyon had fizzled out. 

His eyebrows lifted as he looked at her. “You in such a rush to get back?” 

She shrugged. She'd been thinking about sleeping in her own bed. Of being at home. But there were people and responsibilities waiting for her, too. There wouldn't be any hiding or playing or pretending once she was home. School would start soon, she'd have to face Jack and everything else hanging over her head. She wasn't in a rush to return. 

She looked back as they passed the ranger station, even though she knew the Canyon wasn't visible. Tomorrow she'd be home. The reality was starting to set in. 

James pulled in to a motel down the street. It had been built to look like a giant log cabin, and it reminded Juliet of Lincoln Logs. They both went inside, and she followed him to the desk. “It's our last room,” the clerk said. “Must be your lucky day.” 

“That remains to be seen,” James said. Juliet turned away from the counter, feeling her face flush. They had the rest of the afternoon and the evening to fill. “You know where we can call for a pizza around here?” 

“Should be a flyer in the room,” the clerk said. “Yellow pages in the drawer.” 

“Thanks,” James said, taking the key and leaving the desk. He looked at her. “Pizza okay with you?” 

“It sounds great.” 

They went up to the room, which had the requisite ugly bedspread and rattling air conditioner. Juliet couldn't stop seeing everything as the last one now, the last time. It filled her with a sadness she didn't want to feel. She looked at James, who seemed perfectly content. He tossed his backpack down and stretched out on the bed. He cycled through the channels on the TV quickly. When he found an auto race, he left it there and turned the volume down. 

Juliet sat down on the bed. His eyes didn't leave the screen. She stretched out beside him on her stomach, propping her chin on her fists. “Maybe we should go back, and look at it again.” 

“I don't think it's changed,” James said. “Hasn't since the Ice Age.” 

“Hmmm.” 

“Think I can bribe the pizza man to bring us some fudge?” 

“I think you can do anything,” she said. For some reason, she was thinking of the little emerald-eyed girl from the gift shop again. She closed her eyes and put her head down. James put his hand on her neck and massaged it gently, kneading at knots she hadn't realized she had. After a moment, he took his hand away, patted her on the ass, and then reached for the phone. 

Keeping her head down and her eyes closed, she listened to him sweet-talk the pizza place. She dragged herself up to a sitting position as he finished up. When he put the receiver down, she picked it up and dialed. She watched him pretend to be fascinated by the race on TV. “Hey, Rachel,” she said, when her sister answered. 

“Where are you and why are you calling me before midnight?” 

“We stopped at the Grand Canyon. It's kind of small. We didn't stay very long.” 

“You'll be home tomorrow,” Rachel said. 

“I guess,” Juliet said listlessly. She'd lost her excitement for it. She looked over at James again. He was still watching TV. Some of the tension seemed to have faded out of him. 

“The adventure had to end sometime, Jules. It's been a good run. He's been good for you. This rebound guy, who I hope is better in all ways than Goddamn Jack. I only wish I could meet him.” 

“Maybe you will.” 

“And maybe pigs can fly, my love,” Rachel said. “I know you're thinking that you can keep it going, but once you're back to real life it's going to fade. You're going to be busy, and he's got the kind of life he can just ditch for a week to drive a girl to California. He's a loser. You're not going to be bringing him home for Christmas.” 

Juliet felt tears form in her eyes and the heavy weight of depression settled over her. She didn't want Rachel to be right, but Rachel was right about Jack. She hadn't predicted this, precisely, but she'd still been right. 

“I'm just being realistic,” Rachel said, as though that made it okay. 

James got up, still avoiding looking in her direction. He pulled the map out of his backpack. He studied it, and then he refolded it, the way he did every day, so that their journey for the day was all that was visible, with the other parts of the country turned under and put away. He traced the road with his fingertip.

“I should go,” Juliet sighed heavily.

“You're not going to ask if he called?” 

Her heart fluttered. “Did he?” 

“No,” Rachel said. “But I'm glad you didn't ask. Be safe, baby sis.” She hung up. 

Juliet put the phone down and rested her hand on it. She was done with calling Jack. But her sister's words weighed heavily on her. She looked at James, trying to see him fresh for the first time. 

He glanced at her, and then set the map aside like he was hiding it. Did he think that if he hid the map, the next day's drive wouldn't happen? They could just live here in Lincoln Log land for the rest of their lives? 

“Do you think it'll work?” she asked, seriously. “Us, in LA?” 

“We can make it work,” he promised, and his smile made her feel like everything was going to be okay. Maybe they weren't headed toward doom, after all. If he believed in it, so could she. 

He pulled her into his arms, and then after a moment of awkwardness, he rolled her underneath him on the bed. She felt the length of his body against hers, his heat and his weight, and her thoughts and fears started to melt. He dipped his head to kiss her, his tongue sliding through her lips, and she widened her legs underneath his. 

A loud knock sounded at the door. James collapsed against her with a groan into her shoulder. She wanted to wrap her legs around him and keep him there, but they both knew it was the pizza. He went to the door and paid, then set the box on the table. “How hungry are you?” he looked at her with heated eyes. 

“Not starving yet,” she said. 

He walked away from the pizza box and rejoined her on the bed. 

Afterward, he got up and pulled on his shorts. He grabbed the pizza box from the table and tossed it onto the bed. Juliet tucked the bedsheet underneath her arms to hold it in place and took the first slice. They ate pizza until they were both stuffed. “This is heavenly,” she sighed, leaning back against the pillows. 

James relocated the not-quite-empty pizza box back to the table and then got back into bed beside her. He looked at her like he wanted to say something. Wondering why he hesitated, she raised her eyebrows. 

“I had this idea,” he said, and stopped. He looked at her again, and she wondered what he was seeing when he looked at her. He reached for the map, which he'd folded and left on the nightstand. He held it out to her, but she didn't take it. “We're seven hours from LA. But we're only four hours from Vegas.” 

“Don't you have to be twenty-one to gamble?” she asked. 

“Don't you have to be twenty-one to drink,” he shot back. 

She sat up. “If you're planning a repeat of what happened in New Orleans, then no. No thank you, no way.” 

“I ain't planning to get drunk,” he told her. “C'mon. It's four hours. How can we be this close and not go?” 

“I seem to recall that being your argument in favor of the Grand Canyon, and that pizza was better than the actual canyon.” 

“The only good thing about that pizza was what went before it.” 

“That too,” she agreed, and he kissed her. It started as a sweet, teasing peck, but then it developed into something more. They couldn't resist each other. She wondered if they were really ready to go another round, especially so soon after eating so much food. 

He broke the kiss, dragging his fingers through her hair. He put his mouth against her collarbone and her breath caught. He looked up at her and there was something new in his eyes. “There's other things to do in Vegas,” he said softly, close to her ear. 

Her entire body went cold and then hot. She forced herself to breathe, feeling a little bit like she was going to pass out. “Like what?” she whispered. 

He looked her in the eye. His fingers trailed through her hair again. “You know.” 

“Siegfried and Roy?” she joked. Her heart was racing. 

“You're gonna make me say it? Knowin' what happened to the last guy who proposed to you?” 

“He didn't propose. He told me his decision about my future,” she said, and she felt the anger she'd had for Jack all over again. And maybe anger was better than the overwhelming fear she felt, because she secretly wanted to say yes to James. “That what you're going to do, too? You haven't even said, we haven't even said --” 

“You know I'm in love with you,” he said. He stopped and looked at her, hard. “An' I know that for you, that ain't the same thing as sayin' I'm in love with you, so listen up, Juliet: I'm in love with you. You know more about me than anyone else on this planet. I don't want this to end.” She could see his fear, and his bravery faltered. “I don't know about you.” 

“I --” she said softly, and stopped. She looked at him with all the tenderness she had. “I love you, but I'm afraid.” 

“I'm scared as hell right now,” he admitted. 

“I'm having the baby. His baby.” 

“I know,” he said, and his eye contact never wavered. He didn't blink. He didn't mind. She just wasn't sure if he would mind later. 

“We could go to Vegas and not get married,” she said. 

He sighed. “We could go to Vegas anyway,” he agreed. 

She lay down with her head against his chest and closed her eyes. James's fingers tangled through her hair again. She tried to imagine pulling up to Jack's house with a ring on her finger. She was pretty sure his head would explode, but that was no reason not to do it. Her first thought being to wonder what Jack would think was probably a reason not to do it. 

“Statistically it wouldn't last,” she said, without opening her eyes. 

“Statistically it don't never last,” he said. 

“In five years we'll be twenty-five. We could be totally different people.” 

“In fifty years we'll be pushin' seventy. We could be totally different people together. Or we could die tomorrow. Life don't come with guarantees.” 

“It's not your baby.” 

“But it will be,” he said. He put his arms around her. “I don't care whose baby it is. I love you.” 

She wanted so, so much to believe him. “We can decide in the morning,” she said. 

“That's soon enough,” he agreed.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

He woke up early again. This time he didn't leave the room. He checked to see if she was still sleeping. She seemed to be, and he decided he needed to let her rest. During the night, every time he'd dozed off and then woke up, she'd still been awake, lying next to him with her body tense and thinking so hard he could practically feel it. She'd probably worn herself out, but now she was finally asleep.

But he was awake. James sighed and rolled onto his back, away from her. Overhead, there was a crack in the ceiling that looked like a tree branch. He traced it with his eyes, trying to figure out how it had come to be there. 

It was crazy for him to think she'd marry him. He knew it was crazy to even have suggested it. She'd said they would decide in the morning, but he wasn't expecting it to be a yes, not after her reaction yesterday. He sighed again, knowing he should be preparing himself for the long drive to LA today, not the short drive to Vegas. They'd have good intentions, but they would probably end up saying goodbye.

He really did love her, though. 

Scowling, he thought about that lying fortune-teller in New Orleans who'd said Juliet was his soulmate. He didn't believe in any of that garbage, but lying there next to her with the prospect of watching her walk out of his life, he desperately wanted to believe it. No one knew better than he did that there was no such thing as happy endings. Not for him, anyway. She deserved better.

James slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her. He eased open the pizza box and grabbed a cold slice, then stood over by the window, looking out while he ate. A few carloads of tourists drove by. On their way to disappointment, he thought, though really it hadn't been that bad.

“You save some of that for me?” Her sleepy voice came from the bed. He turned and found her looking at him, despite his efforts not to wake her. 

“There's a whole box of fudge we ain't touched yet.” 

“I forgot,” she said. 

“You want the fudge or some pizza?” he asked. She closed her eyes, still sitting up, with the sheets wrapped around her and her hair soft and loose. He grabbed the pizza box and sat down on the bed next to her. 

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I'm too young to get married,” she said. 

He'd known what she was going to say, but it still hurt. He drew a deep breath, feeling like she'd punched him. 

After a moment, she nodded, like she was confirming it for herself as much as for him. “We can go to Vegas,” she said, and then looked down at the pizza box. “I'm not ready to go home yet.” 

“Okay,” he agreed. He wasn't going to argue. It was her decision. He sighed. At this point, he'd take what he could get. Juliet reached out and touched him, brushing back his hair and then drawing him into a kiss. It didn't quite dull the pain in his chest.

Once they were back on the road, it was quiet in the car for a long time. It felt like they'd run out of things to talk about, and he didn't like it. It wasn't a comfortable silence. Even with another planned stop for the night, they were just rushing headlong toward the end. Juliet fiddled with the radio, but it was all static, so he reached over and turned it off.

“You want to play?” she asked, as they passed the “Welcome to Nevada” sign. He shrugged. He didn't feel much like childish games. 

She sighed. Then she pulled her knee up into her seat and twisted so she was kind of facing him. He looked at her curiously, then averted his eyes back to the road. “Can I tell you a story?” she asked. 

“What kinda story?” He frowned a little bit, not knowing where this was going. He didn't want to hear about her and her ex. Especially not right now. 

“It's about me,” she said, and stopped. 

“Go on then,” he said gently. “Sounds important.” 

“It's so stupid,” she said, and looked down. She was quiet for a long moment. When he looked at her, she moved her head like she was still deciding what to say. It made his stomach nervous. “When I was ten, my parents got divorced. My mom said that they still loved each other, but they weren't meant to be together. She didn't mean to, but it turned into some kind of big destiny or fate thing in my head. I was so upset, James. For maybe a year. I took it so hard. My dad, when he left, he... left. We didn't hear from him for four years. Not a word, not a call, not a check, not a postcard.” 

“Okay,” he said, because he had to say something, but he didn't know what yet. 

“I figured it was my fault. I wasn't good enough, wasn't worth it, wasn't... whatever. But when he came back, I asked him, and I asked him, until finally he answered me. And he said there was no reason. Nothing anyone had done. He just left. I was hurt before, but that was devastating. So that's something you should know. About me. I grew up in a world where you could just randomly get abandoned one day, for no reason. Nothing you did or said could have caused it, or prevented it. It just happened. And then Jack --” 

That was when her voice broke. She raised her hands to wipe the tears away. “I know it doesn't compare. To what happened to you. At all.” 

“Ain't a contest,” he said, but he was kind of annoyed. Because yes, his shitty childhood beat hers by a mile. And he'd put himself out there for her last night, all the way out there, and she shot him down. But it felt like this was supposed to be her excuse, and it fell short. 

He exhaled noisily. “I survived. That's what you do, Juliet. You survive and you live another day and another day after that. If you're alive, you keep going. I was hidin' under that bed, but I didn't stay there.” 

“I'm just so scared of messing everything up,” she said. “Ruining the life of this poor kid who never asked to be born. Ruining your life. Scaring you off. Driving you away.” 

“You got major abandonment issues, Blondie,” he said. He looked at her, meeting her eyes. “I ain't going nowhere.” 

“What are we going to do?” she asked, her voice full of tears again. 

“Keep drivin' til we get to Vegas. Then stop,” he said. 

“Illegally gamble and go see some crappy magician,” she said, with an edge to her voice. “Then probably fuck and then drive back to LA.” 

“Stop callin' it fucking when I love you.” He hated how raw the emotion was in his voice.

“Does that change what it is?” 

“Yes,” he insisted. He sighed, because he'd have to face the truth sooner or later. “You don't love me, do you?” She'd said she did, the night before, but he couldn't let himself believe it. 

She was quiet for a moment, and his heart started to break. With every second that passed, it cracked a little more. “I do love you,” she said softly. 

He still wasn't sure he trusted it. “You pull me close and then you push me away,” he said.

“It's not that easy for me.” 

He swallowed, his throat feeling like it was closing up. “You still love him, don't you? That bastard.” 

“James,” she said, almost pleading. 

“I just want to know where I stand. So how about you give me a straight answer, Juliet?” 

The seconds ticked by. He wondered what he'd do if she didn't answer him, or if she said what he thought, but didn't want to hear. He kept thinking she was going to go back to that guy when they got to LA, because it was easier than being with him. Because that guy was rich, and he had nothing. Because that guy was her kid's father, and James never would be. 

“I don't love him,” she declared. 

He still felt uneasy. He didn't think she was lying, but how would she even know if she was telling the truth? 

“I don't,” she said. “I never forgave my dad for leaving us. We talk now, and he's my dad, but I still – I don't – it's never going to be okay.” 

James looked at her. He decided he believed her. Her entire body was tense, and the tip of her nose was pink from crying. 

“Let's just get there, and gamble,” she said. “You can have everything I win.” 

That was great, but what he wanted was her heart. 

…

Given the choice between a fancy casino and one that was modeled after a circus, they chose the circus. It helped that the room cost less than twenty dollars. 

“That sign is something else,” James said, putting his hand in hers as they stood out front, looking at the giant, garish Circus Circus sign with a neon-lit clown on it. The clown held a giant lollipop and there was something seriously off about his eyes. 

“Where’s Stephen King when you need him?” Juliet asked. “That clown is creepy.” 

All around them, lights glowed and twinkled and glittered. Every light was animated, the signs glowing with lights that pulsed in strips, one after another and then back to the beginning. Even McDonalds had a huge sign that glowed and blinked. 

“Must be one hell of an electric bill,” James said. They crossed under the large, illuminated awning, into the building. It smelled like cigarette smoke, and all around them were the sounds of bells and chimes from the machines, coins dropping, and the clunk of the arms of the one-armed bandits being pulled for another chance at winning. 

The hotel was a series of towers surrounding the casino, reachable by pink, glowing pods of monorail cars. James frowned hard at the one that pulled up in front of them. Juliet pulled him inside. 

It was ultimately just another hotel room with an ugly bedspread. Juliet stretched out with a sigh, raising her arms over her head and tilting her hips. It felt so good to lie down after the long hours in the car. She turned her head to look at James, who was watching her with his mouth open and an amused expression in his eyes. 

She watched him dig through his bag. He found his roll of bills and thumbed off a couple, shoving them into his pocket. Juliet wondered how much they’d spent and if it was too much. “You gonna stay here and catch a few winks?” he asked, his hands dug deep down into the pockets of his jeans. 

“No, I’m coming with you,” she said, sitting up. She blinked as the room swam before her eyes, so she paused for a moment before getting to her feet. James put his hand on her elbow to steady her. “I’m okay.” 

“Course you are,” he said, and tilted his head. He waited a heartbeat before he pressed his lips to hers. Then he pulled back, just as she was reaching up to twine her fingers through the soft hair at the back of his neck. She supposed she didn’t need her head spinning any more than it already was. 

“Do you want to go check out the circus part?” she asked, when they reached the casino. 

“Maybe later,” he said. “I’m in the mood for some blackjack.” He cracked his knuckles eagerly. 

She had to smile. “I’ll come with you,” she said.

He shook his head and swung the hair out of his eyes. “Stay here and play the slots,” he told her. He pulled a slightly crumpled twenty out of his pocket, and instead of handing it to her, he took it to the bill changer. A flood of quarters poured out into one of the cups provided by the casino for that purpose. “Only time that's gonna happen tonight, so don't spend it all in one place.” 

“James,” she said, when he put the cup into her hands. She didn’t understand why he wanted to go off on his own. This already felt like an ending, the last night of their road trip. Why wouldn’t he want to spend it together? 

“I’ll come find you and then we can hit buffet,” he promised. “And the circus and whatever.” 

She looked at him hard, trying to decide whether he was hiding something. Maybe he just wanted to gamble alone, or be alone, she thought, and watched him walk away with a certain stiffness in his shoulders that was more than just hours of driving. 

Juliet sighed and slid into one of the chairs facing a slot machine. It was her fault, and she knew it. Not just for saying no to him, but for their halfhearted argument in the car. He seemed so sure of everything and himself. She turned and looked over her shoulder at where he had gone, as though she’d see him coming back to her. He was not. She was the one who was unsure, who didn’t know what she wanted. She only knew what she didn’t want. 

She didn’t want Jack, and she didn’t want marriage. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be a grown-up, but in a few months that wouldn’t really be optional. Besides, she’d never had a problem being serious or responsible, so she was probably halfway there.

Feeding a quarter into the slot machine, she pulled the lever and waited for something to happen. The wheels spun and then finally settled, displaying cherries, a stylized number seven, and a bell. They didn’t match across the row, and nothing clanged or beeped, and no money fell out, so she figured she hadn’t won. 

She wasn’t really sure why people thought this was fun. As the wheel spun again, she thought about James and the things he’d said in the car. She thought about him, and his life, and how nothing that had happened had left him afraid to try. She yanked the lever again. Maybe now that she was going to have a kid herself, it was time to leave behind her issues from her parents’ divorce. It had been ten years ago, and like James said, she’d survived. She’d turned out okay. 

Her family could look any way she wanted it to look. It was hers to create. If that meant a dad with shared custody, and another dad who was her boyfriend or husband or whatever, then who could say that wasn’t a family? 

Her life could look any way she wanted it to, as well. She could make the decisions for them, instead of having men try to push their decisions onto her. Unlike her mother. 

To be fair, so far it was only Jack who had tried to push his decisions onto her. And that was just Jack. His family was completely screwed up too. His dad made hers look like the father of the year. Jack had no idea that what he was doing wasn’t what she wanted, that all those hopes and dreams and plans he’d made without consulting her were his plans. That was the problem. He didn’t know what she wanted. He just assumed she wanted what he did. 

She thwacked the arm of the slot machine down again. 

“You don’t have to pull it so hard, dude.” The voice came from beside her, clearly addressing her, and she turned her head. 

Standing there was a skinny kid in a striped t-shirt. He was probably nine or ten, with gorgeous dark curls and brown eyes and tiny freckles dotted all over his face. Juliet smiled at him, because it was funny.

He sat down in the chair at the slot machine next to hers. “Let me show you how it’s done.” 

“Okay,” she agreed, still smiling at him. To think that she and James had been worried about being caught when they were underage. This kid was obviously a kid and no one looked twice at him.

He held up a quarter with such finesse and theatricality that she expected him to twirl his wrist and have it transform into a dove. Instead, he eased it into the slot. His warm brown eyes met hers and she nodded. Slowly, he pulled the lever and released it so it seemed to float back up into place. The machine made a racheting, clickety sound as the wheels spun. Smoke circled around their heads from someone’s cigarette. One cherry, two cherries… She held her breath, until the third wheel settled on a lemon. 

Two must have been good enough for something, because a trickle of quarters flowed down. 

“If I was keeping these, it’d be illegal,” he explained. “But I’m not. I’m just putting them back in the machine. Where they belong.” He dropped another quarter and nodded to her. 

Juliet followed his lead, slipping a quarter into her machine and then pulling the lever with gentle reverence. It rose back into place while the wheels spun. She didn’t win. She glanced over at his machine and saw it had settled onto two lemons and an orange. Another small flow of quarters emerged from his machine.

“I can do this, like, all day,” he said, and it wasn’t quite a brag. It was a statement of fact. Juliet thought that James would get such a kick out of this kid if he was here. “My dad says I’ve always been lucky.” 

“Oh yeah?” Juliet asked, finding that intriguing. She’d never had any luck at all, bad or good, and had never given it much thought, beyond the occasional semi-quote that she’d been born under an ill-fated star. 

He nodded, and looked at her machine. “Wanna switch?” 

“Sure.” She got up and they traded machines. She expected that taking over his machine would make her a winner, as though he’d imbued the machine itself with some sort of luck. But it didn’t. He won on her machine and grinned at her. Maybe it was just time, she thought. The machines had to pay out every so often. 

“You ready?” he asked, looking at her with bright eyes. 

“For what?” 

He kissed the next quarter and fed it into the slot on what had formerly been her slot machine. It tumbled down into the belly of the machine. 

That’s when the screaming began. 

“Ay dios mio! Hugo!” The screaming woman was clearly the kid’s mother. He jumped at the sound of her voice. Juliet looked at her, wearing high heels and a rayon dress, overdressed in this casual place. The woman grabbed the boy, letting loose a long string of angry Spanish that was too rapid for Juliet to follow. 

“Dad said I could play,” the kid protested, squirming away from her. “There he is now!” He pointed. 

“Your father?” the woman cried, surprised. Then she turned angry again. “Your father?” She turned on the hapless, long-haired man who approached. “David?” she yelled. 

Juliet flinched at the name, though she knew it was just a coincidence. 

“You win again, son?” The man ruffled his son’s hair with a smile that gave away a great sense of pride. 

The woman began to yell at the man in Spanish, and the ruckus of the family surrounded Juliet for a moment. She wouldn’t have heard the boy say, “good luck,” if he hadn’t touched her arm. She nodded. He winked at her as his parents pulled him away, yelling something about security guards and his age. 

Juliet realized the boy had put a quarter into her machine but not pulled the lever yet. Using his technique, she did that now. Quarters began to spill out, chiming as they fell. Something lit up and bells rang on the machine. She laughed, and looked over her shoulder for the noisy family. They were gone. She wished James were here to share this strange victory with her, but the only person around was a man with a Tom Selleck mustache and bright blue eyes. He nodded at her, but she looked away. With her cup full of a ridiculous amount of quarters, she figured her borrowed luck could only take her so far, and went to find James. 

He sat at a blackjack table what felt like miles away from where she had been sitting. She’d wound her way through what felt like the entire building looking for him, squinting at players in the dim light and the smoke. She stood and watched him before approaching. Holding her heavy cup of coins, she felt like at any second, he would sense her watching him and turn his head and see her there. He gestured for the dealer to give him another card. Seeing him made her feel warm inside, and light. Happy. That was something good to hold onto. 

He sat comfortably at the table, with one foot stretched out. His hair caught the light where it tumbled down into his eyes. There was just the slightest hint of baby fat in his cheeks, and his lips were soft. She wished she had the camera. She’d just have to remember instead. 

She crossed the garish casino carpet. He glanced at her as she approached, and his expression brightened into a smile. “You hit the jackpot, angel?” 

“Something like that.” She ruffled her fingers through his hair, and he shook his head, looking at the dealer, who waited patiently. Her cup full of quarters plunked down on the edge of the table. “Guess dinner’s on me. Unless you’re suddenly a high roller.” She didn’t know how much he’d started with, but his pile of chips was pretty small. 

“You wanna play?” James asked. “Bring me some of that luck.” He put one of his plastic chips into her hand. 

She slid it into the proper spot on the table and nodded to the dealer. James’s hand rested lightly against her back. The dealer dealt cards to both of them. “Hit me,” she said, gesturing for another card. 

Half an hour later, her stack of chips had grown. She’d had several blackjacks, which helped. James’s stack had dwindled almost into nothing. “Last one,” James said, and she glanced at him with a little relief. She should have felt confident by now that he had good sense and restraint, but sometimes gambling changed people. She’d seen it happen. 

The dealer lay down the cards. James went over. “Ouch,” he said, and sighed as the dealer collected his bet. Juliet met the dealer’s eye and nodded, tapping the table. He lay down her card and she had exactly twenty-one. He paid her. She collected her chips and tipped him. “Guess you’re the lucky lady,” James said. 

“You have no idea.” She gave him a mysterious smile. “Where do we cash out?” 

It was less than a thousand bucks, all told, including the quarters. James signed the forms since he had ID – a fake one, she thought, since his age didn't come up, but she didn't question it -- and they walked away. “Why didn’t you mention you were good at this?” he asked her. “Since this clearly ain’t your first rodeo.” 

She looked at him. She trusted him, but she hadn’t quite been sure of him here. “You patted me on the head and told me to play the slots like a good little girl,” she pointed out. 

“You really hate that,” he said. He was learning. 

“I liked the slots,” she said, letting it go. The quarters had been the luck of that amusing kid she’d met, but the table was all hers. “Don’t underestimate me. I am a math whiz.” 

James caught her wrist, a little harder than he intended to. She frowned and looked into his eyes, which were darkly shadowed here in the casino. “You count cards?” he whispered. 

“Of course not,” she said. “That’s not allowed.” Whether he believed her or not, that was something else. “We’re done playing for the night, anyway,” she reminded him. 

“Oh, we are?” he said, and gave her a long look. 

It made her heart skip a little. “We are,” she confirmed. “Where was this buffet you mentioned?” 

“Always hungry,” he teased, rubbing his fingers lightly along her arm. “We could get room service.” 

“It’s our one night in Vegas. Isn’t a buffet practically required?” she asked. 

“You talked me into it,” he said. He slung his arm around her waist, holding her tight, and they meandered through the windowless casino until they located the restaurant. Juliet felt proud to pay from her winnings and they entered the buffet line. 

There was so much food, in several stations – Italian here, tacos there, a huge space for desserts. They each loaded up their plates. Unlike the casino, which was supposed to be a kid-free space, the buffet was full of families. Little kids shrieked and chased each other in circles. James steered her to a booth near the back, where it was maybe a little quieter and out of the way because it was farther from the food. They sat down across from each other. 

Juliet dug in, already thinking of seconds. James looked down at his plate, holding his fork in his left hand like he didn’t know where to begin. He met her eyes and she looked back at him. 

“Try the shrimp cocktail,” she suggested, gesturing with her spoon. 

He did, considering it. “Not bad.” But she noticed he didn’t eat another shrimp, instead starting in on a mound of mashed potatoes. He glanced at her again, and she gave him a half-smile, wondering what he was thinking. 

“It’s the last night.” 

“It’s not the last anything,” she said. “It’ll be different. Not over.” 

He looked like he didn’t believe that. There it was, again, that little feeling that lacked trust. She wondered if he was really going to settle in LA, if it would be enough for him. If she would be enough. And she could see that he doubted her, too, that once they weren’t on the road and in motels, but back into normal life, that he thought she might find something better to do. 

“There’ll always be roads,” she said. “We can find a buffet. Motel 6 is everywhere.” 

“It won’t be the same. We might not be the same.” 

“Might be better,” she suggested, but she put her fork down because her stomach ached. Maybe she’d overestimated how hungry she was. She definitely wouldn’t be the same, not for long. 

“Don’t forget me.” He nudged her foot under the table with his. 

“What?” 

“You’ll get back to school, and be busy. You’ll forget to call, and then go see whatshisname, and then the baby’ll come. There won’t – I won’t –” 

She frowned, and her voice came out louder than she intended. “Are you trying to break up with me?” The people at the next table looked at her, and she was tempted to flip them off. 

“If I wasn’t with you, would you go back to him?” he asked. 

“You’re not saving me from anyone,” she pointed out, feeling her blood start to sing with anger. “You don’t get to decide that it’d be better for me to be with Jack, so then you dump me thinking that I’ll just go back to him.” 

“You didn’t answer the question.” He set his jaw, and she noticed his eyes looked especially green. Outside, most of the time, they were more on the blue side. But not right now. 

“I’m never going back to him,” she said. “And that’s separate from my wanting to be with you. I will be with you, James. If you let me.” That was the key. The hard part. 

He looked at the wall, which had neon flashing lights on it, of course, and their reflections cast back at them like a funhouse. 

“You’re still thinking we should just rip the band-aid off and call it before it hurts too much,” she said. 

“I thought that’s what you wanted.” 

“I want someone who will never leave me, James,” she said, and surprised herself. He looked at her, and it took all the bravery she had not to look away. 

“That’s what I was offerin’ you last night,” he said softly. He pressed his lips together, rolling them tight for a moment. “Hell, that’s what he was offering you too.” He sighed. 

“I know,” she said. “I love you. I don’t want to be married. Not yet. Not to anyone.” 

He looked at her for a long time. She wanted to fidget, because it felt like he was making a decision. About her and about their future. It felt like a test, like how the Egyptians used to rip out your heart and weigh it on a scale to see if you passed. 

He picked up her hand and kissed her ring finger. It made her feel giddy. Then he turned her hand over and kissed her palm, so lightly she wanted to shiver, and giggle. Then he started to lick her fingers and she did laugh, and he grinned crazily at her. “You want seconds?” 

“I think I’m full.” 

“Alert the media, first time for everything,” he said. He got to his feet and hitched up his baggy jeans. There was a little swagger in his step as he headed back to the food stations. Juliet looked down at her hands, and then at herself in the mirror, this strange alien girl who only sometimes felt like her. She put aside the doubts and fears and thought about the hopes. Today she’d been lucky, and this week she’d been happy, and she had to consider whether those were the same thing. 

A small plate with a piece of cake on it rang against the table as he put it down in front of her. He set down his own plate, piled only slightly less high, and got to work. She took one small, perfect bite of chocolate cake and then licked the frosting off the fork. “What do you want to do tonight?” she asked. 

He raised his eyebrows at her. A proposition.

“It’s Vegas,” she said. “We can do that anytime. Don’t you want to see the circus, or the midway, or find a tacky magician or some dancing girls?” 

His eyes turned wicked, and he opened his mouth. She knew exactly what he was going to say. “No,” she warned him, then relented, “Unless you wanna do a Chippendales thing for me in return.” 

He laughed, and his laugh always made her happy. “Why don’t we just stay here, baby? Your brain and my body… we got it made. The road trip never has to end.” 

“I wish it didn’t have to,” she said. She got to her feet and reached for his hand. “Let’s go see the circus, James.” 

“Can we make out in the circus?” he asked, with a hopeful look in his eyes. 

“What do you think?” she asked, pulling him to his feet. He slipped his hand around her waist and leaned in to kiss her there in the buffet, his tongue sliding between her lips. She felt her face get hot and put her hand against his chest to stop him, even as she kissed him back. 

When the kiss ended, he blinked at her and then looked deep into her eyes. “You sure you wanna go to the circus, Juliet?” 

“Maybe,” she breathed. He moved toward her again, and she placed her finger against his lips. He bit her lightly, playfully. Then he squeezed her hand. They were definitely going back to the room. 

…

He held her in the early morning light. They were both awake and relaxed. He was thinking about dreams, and how he'd never really had them for himself before. His only vision of the future had been one of revenge. 

They won't have a picket fence, and as a doctor she'll always out-earn him. They'll fight, but they'll make up. 

He thought about the word wife. How if he was lucky, someday she would agree, and maybe someday he'd see her in a pretty white dress. He thought about how being with her, the future loomed over him and he wasn't intimidated. The countdown was on, six or seven months he figured by the things she'd said. It wasn't his, but he could still be something like a father. 

He wondered if they'd have the kid call him by his first name or come up with something else. 

He wondered if she'd still love him in a week, a month, a year. A lifetime. 

He didn't wonder if he'd still love her.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The air conditioner in his car gave up about an hour outside of Vegas. James fiddled with it, turning it up and then down, off and then back on. It only blew warm, vaguely musty scented air. 

It was still early morning, but the sun was already high and hot. He cranked down the window, and she did the same on her side. The cross-breeze blew his hair across his face, and he snuck glances at Juliet as she raised her arms to tie her hair into a messy knot at the back of her head to keep it from blowing into her eyes. He envisioned digging his fingers into her hair and undoing that knot, then came up short as he realized that they wouldn’t be sleeping together in another motel that night. Well, he would. She would be home. 

“We could stop and get it fixed,” he said, looking in the rearview mirror to try to remember how far they’d come since the last town. Maybe it would take all day. Maybe it would take a week. 

“No,” Juliet said, shooting down his hopes. Her expression was set and stubborn. “No more delays. We’re going home. There are auto repair shops in LA. And they’re probably cheaper, since it’s not the middle of the desert. It’s not that hot. We’ll be fine.” 

He didn’t say anything. He felt a huge longing to take his foot off the gas and coast so they would never get there. He hoped for roadside attractions where they could stop, to linger and fill time. Anything to make this last longer. To keep it from ending.

His sweaty hands slipped against the smooth plastic of the steering wheel. Juliet shifted in her seat beside him, her thighs sticking to the seat. Her long legs stretching out distracted him and the car’s straight path wavered on the road. 

“What else are we going to do in California?” he asked, feeling hesitant. He wet his lips and refocused on driving, on keeping the wheel straight and his foot heavy on the gas. 

“There’s all kinds of tourist stuff if you’re into that,” she said casually, looking out the window. The wind teased a long strand of hair out of her bun and made it dance. She tucked it neatly behind her ear. “The beach. Have you ever seen the Pacific ocean?” 

“Ain’t even seen in the Atlantic,” he said. 

She frowned at him. “You made it all the way to Miami but not to the ocean?” 

He shot her a deep-dimpled grin. “I got sidetracked.” 

“I’m glad you did,” she said, but she drew a deep breath that bordered on a sigh. “Where would you be right now if you hadn’t stopped? If we hadn’t done this?” 

“Probably layin’ in the sun on some island right about now,” he said. “Drinkin’ and sleepin’ on the beach.” 

“It’s nine a.m.!” 

“Noon over there,” he pointed out. He looked at her. “Hell, I probably wouldn’t have made it. I’d be stuck in Key West, scammin’ for a bar job. Or dead.” 

“What? What makes you say that?” 

“I told you about those guys who were after me,” he said, and shook his hair out of his eyes, half wondering if he could wind his hair up the way she did to keep it out of his face. He felt like a shaggy dog would if he put his head out the window. “They’d’ve caught up with me. Or I’d have gone home.” 

“Did you want them to?” she asked, in a low, serious voice. 

“No! I was runnin’,” he said. “Just better running with you.” 

“Are you going to be looking over your shoulder?” she asked, and he wondered if she was worried. If it made her reconsider. If she just needed an excuse. 

“I’m not worried,” he said. “They’re small time, and we’re all the way over here.” They settled into silence for a minute. “Where would you be? If I’d kept drivin’ and hadn’t come along?” 

Juliet stayed quiet for a long time. She looked out the window and he couldn’t see her face. “I might have taken him back,” she said. Then the words came in a rush. “I don't know. Maybe I wouldn’t have. I’d have called my sister and she would have made her opinions known. I might have just caught a flight home. Five hours or so across the country. The time it takes to read a book.” The tight smile she gave him looked scared. 

“What about now?” he asked. He was sweating and his mouth was dry. “You forgive him now?” 

“No,” she said.

“Are you going to?” 

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” she said, which wasn’t the same thing. Her eyes shifted away. “I’ll deal with it eventually. Sometime in the next eighteen years. I still can’t believe this is all really happening.” 

“What are we going to do?” he asked. 

“Live happily ever after,” she replied, and they both knew it was too easy an answer. 

“I’ve never… believed in happy ever after,” he said, hesitating. 

“Me either,” she admitted. “So we’ll enjoy it while it lasts and not think about the rest.” 

He debated the wisdom of asking, “Is it going to last?” 

“It could,” she said. “If we want it to. We’re good together. We work, James.” 

“It’s only been a few days. And not real life.” 

“Real life is overrated,” she said. Then she looked at him, the full, serious blue gaze. “I’m scared, too.” 

“Well then we can just be scared together,” It sounded braver than he felt. 

“I don’t think Jack ever got scared. Or wouldn’t admit it, anyway,” she said. His face must have betrayed the way he felt, because she added, “I’m not sitting around comparing you to him.” 

“Don’t I measure up?” 

“In every way,” she said. “You’re staying with me tonight, right?” 

“I was hoping maybe you’d stay with me in the motel. One more night.” He gave her as much of a smile as he could manage.

“James,” she said, dragging out his name. “My own bed. My roommates won’t care.” 

He shook his head, not sure why he felt so strongly about this. 

“We’re going to do it there eventually,” she said. “Why not start tonight?” 

“It’s different,” he said. 

“How?” 

“It just is,” he said. He didn’t have enough words in his head to explain it. “It’s real life.” 

“It’s all real life,” she said. “We haven’t been pretending. I haven’t.” 

“I’ve never felt like this, Juliet,” he confessed. She didn’t say anything, looking out the window again, and it made his stomach clench up. He wanted to pull over and kiss her until he felt better, but he kept his hand steady on the wheel, eyes focused at that distant point between the white lines on the road. “You don't feel the same.” 

“No, I do,” she said, hesitating a little, like she wasn't sure what to say. “How I feel about you is different from how I've felt before.” 

It wasn't quite the same thing, he thought, his heart speeding up in his chest. He let that fear turn to anger, because it was easier. “What’re you trying to say, Juliet?” he asked her. “You want me to stop sayin’ it? Pretend I’m cool like you are? Make you wonder a little bit?” 

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t want you to fall out of love with me.” 

“Then I won’t,” he said solidly. 

Her voice wobbled a bit. “Everyone else has, so far.” 

So that was it. She was still scared he was gonna leave her, after all this time and all these miles and everything they'd said and done. He made a soft sound, not knowing what to say, but knowing they had to change the subject. “What’re we going to do tomorrow?” 

“So many things,” she said. “We’re going to find you an apartment. And figure out how to become a cop. And I probably need to go to the DMV and get my license replaced. Maybe buy some groceries. Can you cook?” 

“Does soup count?” 

“Is a can opener involved?” she asked, and his silence was answer enough. “We’ll go out to eat. We can go to the beach, if you want. Or you can come with me and check out UCLA. I need to buy my books.” She drifted into silence. 

“What?” he asked. 

“We’re going to be apart,” she said. “I just realized. We’ve spent pretty much every waking minute together. But now there’ll be times when we’re not together. I have class. And you’ll have… stuff. Your own place.” 

“It’ll be our place,” he said, thinking about how she had said she’d have to move when the baby came.

“My whole life is going to change again,” she said, and she sounded a little stunned. 

He wondered about his life. He was starting over in a brand new place and she was the only person he knew. A huge part of him didn’t care – he hadn’t left anything that wasn’t worth leaving. But he trusted her, and that was almost as desperately scary as running for his life. It was tempting to try to cling to her, but he knew he’d lose her if he did. “We’ll make it work,” he said, and it must have been reassuring, because she sank back against the seat, relaxing. 

A green information sign flew past the window faster than he could think to read it. “We should stop in Baker,” she said, and he knew he should have counted on her to be paying attention. “It’s halfway, I think.” 

“I could use a break,” he admitted. He still wanted to hit the brakes so they would never get there, to this strange new world of regular life and new responsibilities. He’d been out of school for a year, working and supporting himself, but he realized he hadn’t grown up yet. He was going to have to. “You hungry?” 

“Yeah, and I have to pee again.” 

“Best get used to that,” he suggested. He looked for the offramp. 

“It’s another couple of miles,” she said. He nodded, she turned up the radio, and he kept driving. 

There was a diner in Baker and he pulled in, along with the cars of all the other tourists on the LA-Vegas run through the desert. The restaurant felt like walking into a cooler, as something like a wall of cold, air conditioned air hit them. Juliet sighed happily. “I’m never leaving this place,” she vowed, before looking for the restroom. 

James slid into a booth alone and requested ice water for two. The tiny glasses arrived before Juliet did, and he picked one up and sipped it. He felt the coldness all the way down into his chest, and he pushed back his sweaty hair. He wondered how far they had left, but was glad he’d left the map in the car. 

Juliet found him and sat down across from him. She picked up her water glass and held it against her forehead, rubbing it across her face. It left the loose tendrils of her hair damp, then she lowered it to press it against her throat. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

She nodded. “I’m just melting.” 

He kept looking at her. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. The next time they stopped driving, they’d be home for her. It would be over. 

“I’m fine.” She stopped caressing her skin with the glass and drank half of it in one long gulp. Then she set it down. 

“It’s the last diner,” he said. 

She shook her head. “Always be more diners.” 

“What’s it like in LA?” 

“Terrible. The sun shines all the time. Everyone’s gorgeous. You’ll fit right in,” she teased, without even cracking a smile. “What’s it like in Tennessee?” 

He shrugged. 

“Come on,” she said. 

“Just another city. Cities are all alike.” 

“James, how many cities have we been through? They’re all different.” 

“It’s different there, too,” he said. 

“Do you miss it?” 

“Do you miss Miami?” 

She smiled a little wistfully. “That was home.” 

“Tennessee was a home I never chose,” he said. 

“I don’t think most people get to choose their home,” she said. “Their real, true home.” 

“Because it’s not a place,” he said, looking into her clear blue eyes and thinking it didn’t matter where the hell they went. As long as they were together he’d be happy. Right now it felt like the road was their home, because it was the only place they had been. But there was time and chances to make a new place home. Their home. It made his heart thump unevenly in his ears. 

She flipped through the menu and he watched her, thinking that he’d rather be in the car with her than be here in the diner. The stopped car so he could touch her. Even though it would be a thousand degrees in that car, stopped, with the windows up and no air conditioning. Even though he was hungry. 

The waitress came by. Juliet ordered a club sandwich and a vanilla shake. James ordered a burger. He looked out the window while they waited. 

“What kind of doctor are you gonna be?” he asked her. 

“I have to get through college first,” she said, and gave him a look. 

She was doubting herself. “Juliet,” he said, to get her to stop. 

“I wanted to go into research,” she said, the real answer. “I’m still thinking about it. It would be more regular hours. Not on call all the time. But then there’s funding to worry about. So I’m kind of thinking ob/gyn.” 

“Babies everywhere,” he teased. 

“There’s more to it than that,” she said, and he could hear the excitement she had for it in her voice. “I’ve always been interested in women’s health, and fertility, and genetics. I feel like there’s still so very much we don’t know. Medicine has always focused on men’s bodies, except in the one field where it couldn’t. It’s exciting to think that we could even things out. Or just make a difference in one woman’s life.” 

“You’re gonna do great,” he said, because he believed it. He believed in her. 

“One thing at a time. It’s a long, long road to becoming a doctor,” she said, and he knew she was fretting about the future again. “You ever think about it?” 

“I’d be one hell of a shitty gynecologist,” he said. 

It made her laugh, as intended. “I don’t know,” she said, with a half-smile he found seductive. She bit her lips. “I meant college.” He shrugged, because he knew that. “You could do it.” 

“You think I’m smart?” he asked, trying to play it off as another joke and failing. He shook his head and looked down at the table. “I wasn’t exactly the greatest student.” He looked at her, but her expression didn’t change with this admission. He smiled to himself, thinking about books. Forget college, all he wanted to do was read. “They got libraries in LA?” 

“Tons,” she promised, and he smiled in spite of himself. “You go the library?” 

“I ain’t some kind of Poindexter, but… free books, baby. What’s not to love?” 

“You are just full of contradictions,” she said, and he could tell he’d surprised her. 

Their food arrived. Her shake came in a tall glass, with the extra in a silver cup. James snatched the extra cup and drank it, sighing over the cold richness of real ice cream. In retaliation, Juliet grabbed a handful of his fries, even though her sandwich came with fries of its own. This is what it’s going to be like, he thought. Sharing. Talking. Being comfortable together. 

When he met her eyes, he thought maybe she was having the same idea. She looked at his lips and smiled at him. He wondered what he used to think about before he met her and she filled up his head with hopes and dreams and fantasies. 

They ate, and lingered in the cold air as long as they could. But eventually the fries were all eaten, the meal was paid for, and other customers were waiting by the door for a free table. So they vacated the booth, and stopped off again at the restroom before pushing the front door open, emerging into the heat of the day. 

The air outside felt like an oven. “At least it’s a dry heat,” Juliet said. It was a cliché but they were both from the humid south. “It’ll be better once we’re back on the road with the windows open. It’s probably not even that far.” She reached for the map and he caught her hand. 

“Don’t,” he said. She looked at him in confusion. “Let it be a surprise. How much time we have left.” 

“It’ll say on the first sign when we get back on the freeway,” she pointed out. 

“So don’t read it,” he told her. 

They got into the car and immediately rolled down the windows to let out the hot, dry air that had accumulated and baked in the sun while they were eating. He didn’t want to touch the steering wheel because it was hot, and Juliet reached for the scratchy blanket from the backseat to protect her bare thighs from the seat. 

“I wanna kiss you,” he said, giving her a look that she met with equal boldness, and he loved that about her. 

“It’s too hot,” she protested. 

“I know,” he sighed, and reached for his seatbelt. The buckle felt like it was burning a hole in his jeans.   
He put the car into gear and pulled out. It was better with a sixty mile an hour cross breeze, but not much. At the first green sign with mileage on it, he averted his eyes. 

Sometime down the road, Juliet smacked his arm. “Oh, why weren’t we playing Alphabet,” she cried, pointing at a sign for the exit to Zzyzx Road. 

“Son of a bitch,” he breathed, and took the exit, which appeared to lead absolutely nowhere. 

“What are you doing?” Juliet cried. 

“One last time,” he said, stopping the car on the shoulder and turning off. 

She met his eyes. “One more time,” she said, correcting him in a low voice. 

Juliet looked at him like he was crazy. He reached for her, putting his hand on her face and drawing her into a deep, hard, desperate kiss. She made an excited sound as she kissed him back, her fingers curling against the fabric of his t-shirt. He slipped one hand into the top of her dress. The other, he buried in her hair the way he’d been thinking about for miles, his fingers surrounded by silken tangles. 

He broke the kiss so he could watch her hair tumble around her shoulders, then pushed down the straps of her sundress and put his mouth on her skin. 

“Make it last,” he whispered against her lips, kissing her again. 

“We can’t do this here,” she protested, pulling up the top of her dress. 

“I could stay here forever,” he sighed, watching her. Keeping his hands to himself now. “Just live here. In this car. With you. It feels like it was always meant to be.” 

“Me too, James,” she said, still a little breathless. Then she said what she had to. “But we gotta go home.” 

“I know,” he grumbled, because he knew she was right. So they straightened themselves up, and buckled back in, and he hung a u-turn to put them back on the road. For the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how disappointed I was to learn the giant thermometer in Baker didn't go up until 1991.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

His heart thrummed in his chest and his hands were slick with sweat on the steering while as he signaled and then pulled into the parking lot for her apartment complex in Westwood. It was an ugly lake of cars surrounding a boxy two-story sprawl of a building. He tasted car exhaust in the polluted air that hung in a yellow-brown cloud over the city. 

“It’s right there.” Juliet indicated a second-floor apartment. There was a balcony with a rusty table and chairs, and some desiccated, dead plants in terra cotta pots. He pulled into an empty parking space. Juliet pressed her head back against the headrest and sighed. “I can’t believe we’re here.” Her eyes went up, finding the building again. “This is weird. Being home.” She looked at him without moving her head. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, and she heard the strain in his voice. It scared her a little. 

“You want to stay tonight?” she asked, sitting up and turning to face him. “My roommates won’t care. They probably aren’t even home. It’d be almost like still being on the road.” They’d still be together, anyway. It wouldn’t be much like the road, in her familiar room with her bed and all of her things. A place she felt comfortable but he had never been. 

“It’s okay,” he said, looking again at the building. His eyes were wide. She wondered for a minute if they had giant apartment complexes where he was from. But she knew it wasn’t that. 

She lay her hand on his wrist, gently. She could feel the heat of his tanned skin and the faint tickle of the pale blond hair on his arm beneath her fingers. She felt afraid that he was going to bolt, and she’d never see him again. He said he loved her, but he could back out of the parking space and never come back. “At least come in with me for a minute,” she said, as persuasively as she could. As though bringing him inside would fix it, would make her home a place where he belonged. She closed her fingers around his wrist, rubbing the soft skin on the inside of it with the side of her thumb. She loved his unexpected soft places and wanted to put her mouth on it. 

“I should give you my phone number.” There had been a pen in the glove compartment and she found it, uncapping it and making circles on his skin until the ink appeared. She recited the number for him, watching his eyes as he committed it to memory. She wrote it on his wrist just in case, high enough it wouldn’t come off when he washed his hands, marking him where his pulse beat. 

She tucked the pen back into the glove compartment and shoved the car door open, for what might be the last time. Juliet stood and looked across the roof of the car to make sure James was with her. 

He was, putting his hands on his hips and leaning backward to stretch, yawning. It triggered her to yawn, watching him, and she wanted to laugh. They met at the trunk of the car, where he retrieved the plastic Target bag filled with her few belongings – shirt, too-tight jeans, underwear, swimsuit, and the disposable camera. She hooked the bag over her wrist and put her hand into his. He laced his fingers between hers, making her feel secure. They’d go inside together. His palm was sweating. 

“Son of a bitch,” he breathed. Her entire body tensed, and she turned her head to look where he was looking. When she saw what he saw, she wanted to swear herself. It was Jack’s brown 1960s Bronco, parked not far from where they stood. Jack sat inside, at the steering wheel, but not for long. He’d spotted them and got out of the car. There was fury written on his face as he approached them, his jaw clenched and his eyes wild. James moved to put himself between her and Jack. 

“It hasn’t even been a whole week!” Jack shouted at her. Juliet felt herself shrink inside. “Or did you know this guy before? Was this all part of some plan?”

“Jack, calm down please,” she said, in her coldest voice. It was a struggle for her to sound calm. Jack’s anger had always frightened her, though it rarely came out, and when it did, she was usually angry enough in return to hand it back to him. 

“I can’t believe you left me for this.” Jack’s eyes flicked over James, from head to toe. James straightened up, taking a step back, staying between Jack and Juliet. “I can’t believe you’re already fucking him.” 

“Whoa, now, let’s just talk about this for a minute,” James said, holding his hands out, wanting to play peacemaker. 

Jack wasn’t interested in talking. His right fist smashed into James’s face. The sound of it made Juliet cringe. James stumbled back, and she saw the blood seeping from his nose. Fury overtook James’s expression. His left fist connected with Jack’s stomach, unexpectedly, followed by his right fist punching Jack in the face. Jack gagged, bent over with the wind knocked out of him. Blood drooled from his mouth onto the ground. He spit, glaring at James, whose hands were still in fists. 

Jack started to stand up, and James postured like the fight was going to continue. 

“That’s enough.” Juliet raised her voice, interrupting them. She turned her head and looked James in the eye. “Give us a minute. Please.” 

James gave her a long look, and she knew he was deciding if she could handle it and if she was going to be safe. Finally, decided, he shook the hair out of his eyes and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. All it did was smear the blood that coated his nostril with red. He went and leaned against his car, only a few feet away, near enough to react if things turned violent again. He folded his arms and glowered at Jack and the world at large. 

“Are you all right?” she asked Jack, her eyebrows raised. He grunted noncommittally, but he was standing upright, with one hand pressed against his stomach. She reached up and took his jaw in her hand, not gently, turning his face so she could look at it. His lip was split, but he’d live. Her eyes searched his. “What are you doing?” 

Jack just looked at her, and tears came into his brown eyes. His tongue explored the cut on his lip. 

She patted his cheek, almost but not quite a smack. Then she dropped her hand. “You don’t get to be jealous,” she told him. “Not anymore. Because we’re finished. We were finished the minute your toes touched the gas pedal and you drove away.” 

“Juliet,” he protested. “Hear me out.” His hand reached out like he was going to touch her, and she neatly sidestepped it. She looked at James, who’d started to stand up, and he leaned back against the car. 

“There’s literally nothing you can say that’s going to fix this, Jack,” she informed him. Her mouth was dry, and her heart rate flared with her anger. “You drove off and left me. Alone. In the middle of the night. I didn’t even have my purse. What was I supposed to do? In what world is that okay to do to anyone, let alone someone you profess to love and care about?” 

“I went back,” Jack said, his lips forming a nervous smile. 

“Doesn’t matter,” she replied, shaking her head. She searched his eyes. Waiting. 

“Your purse is in my car. With the rest of your stuff.” 

“Good. You can help me bring it inside when we’re done talking.” She looked at his face, waiting for something to reveal itself. She wanted to hear one good excuse, not just that he got angry. She wanted him to convince her, but she knew he’d never be able to. “What do you have to say for yourself?” 

“I talked to Rachel,” Jack said, and he looked at James. Juliet could just imagine what Rachel had told him. Jack looked at her. “I got your messages. I know you still love me, Juliet. You owe me another chance.” 

“I don’t owe you anything,” she said, and it was a struggle to keep her voice even. 

He reached out and touched her, just below her belly button. It shocked her so much she couldn’t move. “It’s still my baby, Juliet,” he said, and his voice had turned hard. 

“It’s my baby,” she informed him. Furious and trying hard not to let it show. If she looked at James right now, there would be another fight, and she would probably throw the first punch. “Mine,” she repeated. “And if you’re extremely lucky, and very very sorry, and you take your fucking hands off me, I might let you be part of its life.” 

Very slowly, he removed his hand. She was aware of how rapidly he was breathing. 

“Right now, I don’t trust you, Jack,” she said, looking into his eyes. “I can’t trust you.” 

“You’ll regret this.” He raised his eyebrows. 

“It’s none of your business if I do,” she said, a lot more coolly than she felt. 

“I’ll make it my business,” he promised her. She remembered when he used to make her other kinds of promises. It was funny how she didn’t feel any nostalgia or longing now, for those not-so-distant times. He was being an ass and she was glad. It made it easy for her to resolve not to love him anymore. 

“Grow up, Jack,” she said, letting her irritation through. “You’re an adult, with a college degree and a baby on the way. Start acting like it.” 

He laughed, and ran a hand through his thick brown hair. “And you’re a teenage whore without a dime who’s never going to make anything of herself. Do you really think there’s a judge who wouldn’t give me custody? Even without all my father’s connections?” 

She’d cry about this later, but for now she remained straight-faced and still. “Thanks, Jack,” she said, with just the smallest bite of sarcasm. “It’s good to finally know what you really think of me. I’m glad that with a whole week to think about it, that’s the best you could do. Highly original insults. Very nice.” 

“You’re the mother of my child.” 

“You just called me a whore!” she pointed out. 

“Because you’re sleeping with that guy, who you’ve known for all of ten minutes!” 

She looked at him until he looked away. “That’s the problem, Jack. All I’ve ever been to you, has been in relation to you. Your girlfriend. Your fiancee. Your child’s future mother. I don’t think, in all this time, that you’ve ever seen me as a person instead of an extension of yourself. I have thoughts and hopes and dreams exactly like you do. I wish, and I want, and I hurt. I don’t exist for you to push me around and tell me what to do. I have my own mind.” Tears were stinging her eyes now. “All you had to do was ask.” She tried to smile, and mostly failed. She met his eyes. “This would all be so different if you had just asked me, Jack.” 

He put his hands together, holding them out in front of him. Begging. “Please, Juliet. Marry me.” 

She felt one corner of her mouth rise in something that would never be a smile. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said. It was still an order, not a question. She let out a long breath. “I’m going to make a suggestion.” She crossed her arms and waited. Jack looked at her, annoyed, but at least quiet. “Go home,” she said. “Think about what kind of man you want to be. What kind of father you want to be. Search your soul. And then think about how you’re going to do that.” 

He drew a deep breath. “Did you ever love me?” He looked into her eyes, searching. 

She squeezed her eyes closed to try to stop the tears. It didn’t work. She pressed her crossed arms harder against her ribcage. “I still love you, Jack. But it’s over.” 

His eyes flicked over to James, who was still leaning against his car, watching them closely. She had no doubt he’d heard every word. “What’s his name?” Jack asked. 

“James.” She didn’t trust why he was asking. 

“Tell James to help me carry your stuff inside,” Jack said quietly. “Then I’ll go.” 

She nodded, and put her hand on his arm, ever so briefly. “Stay here.” She turned and went to James. He watched her approach, his face neutral. He blinked hard when she stood in front of him, and she saw all his fears flicker through his eyes. He looked a little scared, and a little tough, and a lot like a man who fully expected to get his heart broken. She wanted to touch his face and reassure him. 

“You two crazy kids patch things up?” he asked, his voice rough. He licked the fresh flow of blood that had gathered on his lip. 

“No.” She shook her head and waited. “My stuff is in his car. Can you help?” 

“Yeah,” he said, like it didn’t matter. She wanted to take his hand, but didn’t. He waited for her to go ahead of him, and followed her to the old car. Jack stood there with the trunk open, and when James approached, they circled around each other a bit, glaring and strutting like roosters. But they made quick work of it, bringing her suitcases and boxes up the stairs and into the small apartment. They didn’t say a word to each other, just ignored each other as hard as they could. 

The last thing Jack handed her was her purse. Juliet took it and hugged it to her chest. It was stupid, but she’d needed it and she’d missed it. Jack met her eyes and leaned in like he was going to kiss her, maybe just on the cheek. She jerked her head back and he looked almost contrite. “Can I call you?” he asked. 

She looked at him and wondered if this was the beginning of change. “In a few days,” she agreed. He nodded, and walked back to the car. He looked back at her. Twice. Then the horrible engine roared to life and she watched him drive away. 

Juliet turned and found James standing there, watching her. His hands were open like he didn’t know what to do with them. She walked over to him and rested her head against his shoulder, drinking in the familiar scent of him. He slid his arm around her waist. She drew her head back and looked at his face. “He break your nose?” she asked, because it was still seeping. 

“Barely touched it,” James said, and sniffled. It didn’t help. 

She burrowed her head back into his shoulder and closed her eyes. The sun beat down on them. “That sucked,” she said, her eyes feeling hot again. She sighed, and pulled away. He let her slide out of his arms. “Thank you.” 

“I didn’t do nothin’,” he said. 

She smiled. “It’s crazy to think two guys had a fight over me.” 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he warned. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” she asked, wanting more than anything for him to say yes. He looked like he did, too. But they both knew he wouldn’t agree. “At least let me clean you up.” 

He agreed to that, letting her take his hand and leading him up the stairs, back into her apartment. She looked at it as though with new eyes and wondered what it looked like to him. The collection of cheap Ikea furniture in the living room. The closed doors of her roommates’ rooms. The ruffles and lace on her bed in the tiny bedroom, made even tinier with the pile of boxes and things that had come out of Jack’s car. She set down her purse, then led James into the bathroom. 

He sat on the closed toilet lid and looked at the shower curtain, which was bright blue and covered with colorful fish. She dabbed at his nose with a wet washcloth, then tipped his head back to look inside. “I’m glad he didn’t break it,” she said. “It’s a nice nose.” 

“It’s big,” he said dismissively. 

“It matches the rest of your face,” she said, and smiled, feeling warm inside. “It’s a good face.” She brushed his hair back and trailed her fingers down his cheek. Then she traced the inner edge of his eye socket. “I think you’re going to have a black eye, though.” 

“Ain’t the first time,” he said. “Prob’ly not the last.” 

“I could get you some ice,” she offered, starting for the door. His hand caught her wrist, keeping her there. He looked at her, and turned up his face and she kissed him. His lips tasted faintly of blood and she licked at them eagerly. His hands caressed the sides of her waist and she wanted to sit down on him and wrap her legs around him. 

But he broke the kiss. “I should go.” 

She felt shaky inside, and unsure. “Will I see you again?” 

“I ain’t going nowhere,” he promised. Then he met her eyes. “Juliet? I see you.” 

It went back to what she’d said to Jack. That he’d never seen her as a person. “I know you do,” she said softly. “I love you.” 

“I know,” he said, and they grinned at each other. He put his hands on her waist again, and she pushed his hair back from his forehead. “I love you, too.” 

…  
Epilogue

The night before the wedding, Juliet paged through the photo album. It was heavy and awkward in her hands as she curled up in the rocking chair in their bedroom, with just the dim reading light shining over her shoulder. She’d spent so many nights sitting in this chair, nursing David or just holding him when rocking was the only thing that would get him to stop crying. James had spent his fair share of hours in this chair as well. She could hear them now in the other room, the faint echo of their voices, one deep and one small, while James read David a bedtime story. 

Her dear, sweet boy. He was growing up too fast, right before her eyes. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be able to read the stories to them. 

She flipped the pages open to the beginning of the album. The first photos were of the road trip. They’d only taken a few pictures. There were a couple of tourist sites, badly framed and almost out of focus. She still remembered the long days driving. The way the sun felt on her skin, the radio turned up, the dusty smell of the heat in his car. There were no pictures to remind her of that, or of the garish bedspreads and rattling air conditioner turning motel rooms cold for those first nights they spent together. Those were the memories she’d hold on to forever. 

There were two pictures of them together from the trip. They sat in a restaurant booth together. Her hair was long and wild, and his dimples when he grinned were the deepest she’d ever seen them. She was looking at him, in the picture, and it made her smile now. In the second picture, they were kissing. They looked like kids in love. It hadn’t been that long ago, but she thought they looked so young and free. 

She turned the page. The next pictures were from his birthday, that year, in the fall. She’d baked him a cake that had turned out terribly. The pictures preserved the slanted angle of it and the messy frosting, but not the way it tasted bitterly of charcoal and baking powder. He’d eaten it anyway, then they’d laughed about it in bed that night. 

In the pictures, James’s skin was tan and his hair was sun-bleached. His arms were thick and strong, wrapped around her, with the muscles he’d gained working construction. She remembered his disappointment when he found out he was a year too young to go to the police academy and would have to wait. 

There were a bunch of pregnancy pictures after that. She wore her ugly maternity clothes and gave the camera an impatient look, her backpack hanging off her shoulders. Then there was one of her in a dress that wasn’t quite as ugly, with her hand resting on her large stomach, full of her baby waiting to be born. James had taken a couple of her with her shirt pushed up and her skin showing, too. She hadn’t wanted to at the time, self-conscious about stretch marks and everything else, but she was glad he insisted. There was one where his hand was on her belly and she remembered the time when he was almost afraid to touch her. She remembered putting her hand on top of his, pushing it hard into her skin to meet David’s foot kicking from the other side. 

She turned the page, knowing the pictures would be of the day David was born. There was one of her looking exhausted but happy, her hair tangled and dark with sweat, the tiny new baby resting against her chest. Then there was the one the nurse had taken, the four of them together – her, David, James and Jack. She doesn’t really remember the birth itself, the memories having faded into pain and exhaustion and elation. She does remember James holding her hand, and Jack’s voice. They’d both been there for her, and the two men put aside their differences. 

It had taken some time for Jack to come around. He’d had a lot of growing to do, to learn that their breakup wasn’t something he could fix, and that his jealousy was something that would come between them, and keep him from his son. It hadn’t been easy for him, and even now, he and James struggled to get along sometimes. They were so different but so much alike in some ways. 

Jack hadn’t been the only one who’d had to grow up. James had had to learn how to love someone else – how to love himself. He’d had to learn how to stay, and what it meant to have a family. She’d had to change, too. She had to learn how to trust. Not to leave before she was left. Maybe it had been easier for her, because she was the one with the baby, who wasn’t going anywhere, who needed her more than anything. 

There were pages of pictures of David, with his blue eyes and thin dark baby hair. He was held by everyone in their lives: her, James, Jack, Jack’s mother, Jack’s father, Jack’s grandfather, Rachel. David brought them all together. 

She stopped on the next page. James looked so much younger then. She remembered how hard it had been for him to keep a serious face for the photo. Once she’d pressed the button and the flash went off, he’d laughed, maybe because it was crazy for him to think about wearing that dark blue uniform with the shiny badge and all the responsibility that went with it. She remembered him confessing to her the first time he’d loaded some juvenile delinquents into his squad car that he’d felt like he should be getting in with them, that he was one of them. 

Juliet smiled when she saw Miles in the photos from the barbecue. They’d had it as an academy graduation party for James, and invited Miles. He and James were already practically best friends by then. They’d met on the first day of the academy and just clicked like it was meant to be. “It’s because he’s a sarcastic bastard like me,” James had told her when he introduced them. James and Miles were partners, now, and planning to transfer to vice as soon as James had enough college credits to get promoted. 

He was taking community college classes. He told her he’d never studied a day in his life, and he was shocked at how easily it came to him when he put in even a minimum of effort. It was because it meant something to him, now. It would get him something he wanted. They studied together, sometimes, and she envied his effortlessness. Half the time he had her flash cards memorized before she did as he quizzed her. She teased him that he’d be ready to be a doctor by the time she finished med school. 

More pictures of David, growing and changing from a baby into a little boy. She smiled, and it made her heart ache for the days that were already gone. 

Then, the newest pictures in the album. Her college graduation last month. The pictures almost still smelled of the developing chemicals. She stood on the grass in the bright sunshine and made funny faces in her cap and gown. “Be serious,” James had whispered into her ear, and then he’d snapped a photo of her laughing. He’d also captured one of her when she hadn’t been aware. She looked off into the distance, her hair blowing in the wind. She rarely thought she looked good in pictures, but she liked this one. In some weird way, she felt like it had captured her the way James saw her, like it captured not just her but his love for her. 

Which led to tomorrow, the wedding. That’s what the next pictures in the album would be of. They were having a small wedding, with just the justice of the peace. Rachel had flown in to be her maid of honor and give her away. James had said he didn’t have any family to invite, and she’d seen the pain in his eyes. “Miles,” she said, because he was family now. So Miles would be the best man. The reception would be in their backyard. They’d bought a cake and it was in their refrigerator. Her white dress hung in their bedroom closet, waiting for her to put it on in the morning. 

She couldn’t imagine what it would be like, just as she hadn’t been able to imagine any of the other events in her life until they’d happened. She couldn’t really imagine standing up, by his side, and saying the words that would bind them together. The weight of the ring on her finger. Him kissing her, to make it official. Being married. They’d been together for three years, but tomorrow they would go to bed as man and wife. 

There were blank pages at the end of the album, waiting to be filled. She knew some of the future. She would start med school in the fall. James would get his associate’s degree and probably skip out on any kind of graduation. He’d make detective. Next summer, if nature cooperated, they were planning to have another baby. David would have a little half-brother or -sister. Aside from David also having Jack, it would never feel like “half,” because James was David’s father too, and they would live in the same house and grow up together and love each other. But it would be their baby, together, hers and James, and she longed for it. 

James came into the bedroom quietly. Juliet looked up from the album, putting aside her thoughts. She smiled at the man she loved. “Is he asleep?” she asked, of her son. 

“Three stories later,” James reported. “Mr. Baby is off to dreamland.” Juliet smiled at the old nickname, though he wasn’t much of a baby anymore. James gave her a long look. “The old photo album, huh? Memory lane.” He stretched out on the bed with a sigh, then patted the space next to him for her to join him. 

She got up from the rocker and settled onto the bed next to him, on her stomach. She flipped the album’s pages back to the beginning. “You remember this?” 

She watched his face as he glanced at the old pictures. It turned serious for a moment, and his eyes seemed dark as he remembered. Then he glanced at her and wet his lips. He pushed the album to the far corner of the bed, where it would be out of their way. He put his arm around her, holding her as he pressed his lips to hers. Then he pulled back for a second, just enough to look into her eyes. “It was unforgettable,” he said, and kissed her again. 

(end)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there ends the tale. Thank you for reading, and please consider leaving feedback -- it really does make my day, every single time.


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